


Bloody Soul

by kally77



Series: Bloody Soul series [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-29
Updated: 2013-06-05
Packaged: 2017-12-13 08:52:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 73,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/822400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kally77/pseuds/kally77
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Goes AU at the end of Becoming, part 2. The wrong vampire gets cursed with a soul, and...<br/>Retelling of Season 3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Another Becoming

**Author's Note:**

> _A soul shall draw from out the vast_  
>  _And strike his being into bounds._  
>   
> 
> _**In Memoriam, Alfred Lord Tennyson ******_

“Painful, isn’t it?”

The words seemed to echo throughout the mansion as Spike continued to pound on Angelus with a crowbar. That brief look of surprise when he had turned his face toward Spike had been priceless. Sweet repayment for the weeks of torture Spike had endured. Stuck in a wheelchair, unable to retaliate while Angelus had insulted him or took his Dru to bed, ignored at best, taunted mercilessly at worst, his own minions snickering at him, and finally that insane plan of sending the world to hell… Well, all of that was over now. Soon, he and Drusilla would be gone from this dreadful town, and he was never coming back. Now if the Slayer would only take over the Angelus’ bashing, Spike could be on his way out of…

A quick look at what the Slayer was doing exactly and Spike’s eyes widened in alarm at the scene playing out a few feet away. Drusilla and the Slayer were fighting, each woman looking at the other with deadly intent, fangs and razor-sharp nails on one side, wooden stake on the other. Angelus forgotten, he rushed toward them, crowbar clattering to the floor. With an angry growl, he grabbed Drusilla’s arm from behind and yanked her away from a fast incoming piece of wood before pushing her out of the Slayer’s way.

“That’s not part of the deal!” he shouted, eyes flashing gold as he stared at the short blonde. “You were supposed to leave her…”

An enraged roar interrupted him, and Spike barely had time to curse the stupidity of turning his back on Angelus before the abandoned iron bar struck his back repeatedly, driving him to the floor. Blows poured out of the older vampire followed by venomous words, promising a lot worse than hell was coming Spike’s way for daring to stand against his grandsire. Spike could hear other sounds behind him, sounds of flesh hitting flesh and glass shattering. The bitter thought came to him that this all had been for nothing; whatever happened now, he had lost Drusilla. Either the Slayer would stake Dru, or Dru would kill her and condemn them all to hell.

Infuriated at the idea, he managed to roll over and grab hold of the bar the next time it fell on him. A short struggle ensued; and for a brief second Spike was on his feet, before Angelus sent him flying backward to crash into the table. Stunned, his body aching in more places than he could count, Spike laid in the splintered wreckage unaware of Angelus pulling the sword out of the statue. He heard his Princess’ exultant cry and the Slayer’s muttered curse. Heard Angelus tell Dru to stand aside and leave the Slayer to him. Then, it was metal on metal, the sounds of two swords clashing, and the Slayer’s breath increasingly ragged as each instant passed.

Shaking his head to clear his mind, Spike made an effort to stand, only to regret it instantly. Drusilla was in front of him, very clearly pissed off. He had not seen this particular look very often over the years, mostly because he usually made sure not to let anything upset her too badly, and never had she directed her fury at him.

“My naughty little boy,” she clucked. “I knew the nasty Slayer would worm her way inside, but the stars didn’t whisper that you’d burn tonight. Snip, snap, switch, cane. Whatever shall I do with you now?”

He raised a pleading hand toward her, and she stared at it with an icy look that froze his movement.

“Princess, look, I did it all for you,” he tried to explain, knowing already that it was useless but desperate to gain time. “So that we could…”

Blindingly fast, she struck. Sharp nails sliced his cheek and blood was seeping from four cuts. Ignoring the pain, from both the blow and what it meant, he caught her wrist and tried to pull her down. They could still make it, could still be out of here and on their way to calmer skies if he just managed to restrain her. Once she calmed down, he could explain to her. Make her see how helping the Slayer had been necessary. How hell wasn’t exactly a nice place to spend eternity. How the Angelus who had come back to them wasn’t the one they had once known, how this one was completely insane, probably from being controlled by the soul for so long, how...

Of course, restraining her might have been a tad easier if he had paid attention to what he was doing.

“I don't want to hurt you, baby,” he said in a soothing tone as he struggled with her, only to double in pain when she punched him in the gut.

“I have no such trouble,” she replied before he could add that, wanting or not, he would do what was needed. A kick and another punch followed her words, and Spike spat blood from his mouth.

“We don’t have time for this,” he hissed angrily. Behind Drusilla, he could see that Acathla had opened, and Angelus was advancing toward the unarmed Slayer, taunting her with words Spike didn’t care to hear. It was now or never. Wincing internally, he punched Drusilla in the face, then a second time, before taking hold of her. Once she was unconscious…

However, she wasn’t unconscious yet and instead managed to escape his grip. The force of her own movement sent her stumbling back, straight toward Angel. She crashed into him, hard, making him lose his grip on his raised sword and thus angering him. Even though he had been fighting with her an instant before, Spike roared when her Sire roughly struck his Princess, thoughtlessly punishing her for interrupting his fight with the Slayer. The scream died in his throat as he watched Drusilla stagger before falling backwards, straight through the swirling vortex emanating from Acathla.

* * * * *

The blow was about to come, and Buffy now understood what Whistler had meant when he said she still had something to lose.

Hope.

Until now, she had always believed that she would win eventually, however hard it might be. Now she wasn’t so sure. It didn’t mean she wasn’t going to keep fighting until the last second. Of course, she would take lucky breaks anytime, such as Drusilla throwing Angelus off balance.

Taking advantage of the distraction, she grabbed the sword Angelus had dropped and watched as the insane bitch fell into whatever was hiding inside Acathla. If anything, the unexpected sacrifice seemed to make the vortex grow faster. She had to do it, and she had to do it now. Angelus’ blood had awakened the stone. His blood would soon close it, if she managed to get a shot.

If Spike gave her the chance.

Enraged, Spike jumped on the taller vampire’s back with fists, feet, and oh so inventive words, hitting and cursing him for causing his crazy girlfriend to become hell-fodder. Buffy wanted to intervene and take over the fight – it was her responsibility, her duty and right to deal with Angelus, and her only chance to say goodbye to Angel forever. 

However, before she could do take more than a step forward, a strange light struck Angelus, freezing him to the spot. Taking advantage of his grandsire’s vulnerability, Spike grabbed the other sword from the floor and ran it straight through Angelus’ chest, and began to draw back to strike again. Acathla didn’t seem to agree with that plan, because it began to suck Angelus backwards. The moment he touched the vortex, the light leapt from him and into Spike.

Then it was over. It hadn’t taken more than a couple of seconds.

Shocked, Buffy watched the now inert stone where her former lover had disappeared. He was gone. Angelus was out of her life. And so was Angel. She had thought that she had finished grieving him and their love already; but the knowledge that, this time, it was over made it cruelly clear that she still mourned his loss. Cold grief seeped into her flesh, her bones, her mind, her soul, and she felt numb, too numb even to cry.

Slowly, mindless steps took her forward, closer to the stone, to touch it and make clear to her mind and body that he was gone. The shaking body kneeling between her and her goal stopped her.

Caught up in Angelus’ disappearance, she had forgotten about the cause of this disappearance, about the blonde vampire who had robbed her of her prerogative, who had taken away the only closure she could ever have found.

Without thinking, she brought the sword she still clutched – Angelus’ sword, the sword he had almost killed her with – to rest on Spike’s shoulder. The edge of the blade rested against his neck, and as he continued to shake it nicked his skin; Buffy stared, entranced, as a rivulet of blood glided along the blade before dripping off and onto the stone floor.

Longs seconds passed in a too heavy silence. She just needed to swing the blade, and her unlikely ally would be dust. He just needed to move and he would be safe, at least for a time. Yet, neither of them moved.

“Do it,” he finally said, his voice dry and rasping. “Just end it.”

A pause, not even long enough for Buffy to wonder why he wanted to die, and he added in a whisper: “Please.”

In reaction, she raised the blade, preparing to swing. His whole body tensed in anticipation of the blow. She changed her mind at the last second. She didn’t strike and instead threw the sword away. It clattered across the cold stone and Spike started to shake again, the sound of muffled sobs filling the silence. Seeing him cry was enough to break her own barriers and tears filled her eyes, as well as her voice when she spoke.

“You don’t get to die. You don’t deserve to rest. No more than I do. We get to hurt every day knowing what happened, and how we lost them, and the responsibility we had in it. We hurt enough to die, but we don’t.”

Her voice broke on the last words. How much of these words were for him, and how much for herself? She forced herself to turn and walk away, each step making it clearer in her mind that this part of her life was finished. All she needed now was to learn how to live again. If she ever could.

She never turned back to look at Acathla, never saw Spike curl up on the floor and weep without restraint.

* * * * *

_If you’re going to tell the story, you might as well do it right. You make me sound like a complete prat, you realize that, don’t you? No, it’s not all touching and stuff to have a vamp crying his heart out on cold stone while the Slayer walks away. It’s bloody pathetic, that’s what it is. At least, the way you tell it, it is. I’m taking the scene, now, if you don’t mind. You do? Well, too bad, I couldn’t care less._

_So. The way you say it, it’s as if I was bawling like a baby and begging to be dusted because I had lost Dru. Well, you know that’s not it, and so do I, so let’s straighten things out, shall we?_

_I’m not denying seeing Drusilla disappear into Acathla was… Hell, how can I say it? It broke my heart, that’s what it did. My heart was already in bad shape from her fooling around with Angelus, like she had done a century before and like I knew she’d do again if he ever came back to us. It’s not so much that she did that surprised me, but rather that she never said a thing about him being so different from the Angelus we used to know. Different as in, completely out of his fucking mind._

_The Angelus that sired her, the Master that taught me, very much did appreciate the pleasures the human world can bring to our kind. He was ruthless, yes, and a merciless killer, and so many other things, but he wouldn’t have sent the whole world – including himself – into hell just because he was pissed at a bloody Slayer. Dru should have seen it, seen he was as insane as she was. But she didn’t, and it hurt as much as knowing they shared a bed again; because it meant I was the only one remembering what had once been, the only one still yearning for a past long gone, for a vampire I used to call Sire, even if he wasn’t in the facts of blood._

_But I’m rambling._

_What was I saying again?_

_Oh, right, Dru. Yes, heartbroken. Still am, but the pain dulled over time. Seeing her again months later helped, I suppose, to really say goodbye to her, to what we were, what we had shared. It allowed me to move on, and love again. But at that moment, of course, I was absolutely incensed at having lost her, especially in that almost accidental way, angry enough to take Angelus one on one and not get my ass kicked in two minutes flat. Enough to win, for the very first time ever. If I hadn’t been hurting so much, I might almost have been proud of it. But the hurt from Dru’s fate was only the beginning._

_When I shoved that damn sword in him, something happened. Or rather, had already started to happen. I didn’t know it at the time, but we’ve pieced it together long since. When I skewered him, Red’s little spell was taking effect, and the soul restoration had begun. Then, he touched the vortex, and for whatever reason the spell rebounded; and, instead of Angelus, yours truly was given his bloody soul back._

_How would you have described it, if I had let you tell the tale? What words would you have used to explain how it feels suddenly to have a dozen decades of guilt crammed into you where there was nothing but hedonistic gratification before? I’ve lived through it, so to speak, and I’m not sure I could even find the words. Of course, words have never been my strength, however hard I tried._

_Getting my soul back after a century… well, for one thing, it hurt. The physical pain was intense, like sunshine touching me inside, if that makes any sense at all. Or maybe like drinking holy water, except that the fire wasn’t just in my throat and in my belly; it ran though all of my body, down to my very toes. Didn’t last long, but the memory stayed with me for months. Years. Hell, I can still feel it if I think about it for too long..._

_In short, it hurt like a bitch. Then, my body stopped hurting. Which was good. But immediately, it was my mind. My poor, not so innocent mind of a killer, suddenly and without warning confronted to God knows how many murders… Let’s just say it wasn’t pleasant. Far from it. A hundred thousand voices screaming at me, blaming me for their deaths. But at the same time, all these voices were my own, all their words were something William, in another life, might have said to condemn a murderer._

_I’ve thought about it often, since it happened, wondered why it sounded like him at first, why, as weeks went by, the voice and tone changed to sound more like who I am today. Why was it even my soul that was returned to me, since the spell was obviously cast on Angelus, and had started to work on him? I’m not complaining though. I’ve got to shudder at the idea of getting cursed with Angel’s soul. Now if that had happened, I would have staked myself, no doubt about it._

_And I did think of staking myself. As I lay on stone that felt colder than my own heart, and eventually… what is it you said? “wept without restraint”, as all these nights of feeding were submitted in judgment and found to be sins, I wanted to die. That’s why I just stayed there when the Slayer put her sword to my neck. That’s why I begged her to do it. But when she didn’t, when she left me alone with my aching soul, I didn’t reach for a stake or random piece of wood. I didn’t move, except for retreating from the menacing statue that was the only presence with me apart from my too numerous victims. I simply couldn’t do anything more than that. Could only stay there, and cry, and endure the pain. Try to endure it. Try not to lose my mind._

_I failed._

_When they came, I barely recognized them. Their faces were blurring with countless others, and… Well, I’ll let you get to that part, I suppose. If you’d be kind enough not to make me look like a complete git? Thank you._


	2. A Way Out

Sunrise was still two or three hours away when Giles’ car pulled up in the mansion’s driveway. He had waited as long as he dared, hoping that Buffy would come back to them even if it meant she’d return with a newly resouled Angel. He wasn’t sure he wanted to consider his feelings for the vamp quite yet, but he would probably need to eventually. He needed to either accept that Angel and Angelus were truly two different persons or find it in himself to pretend he believed they were.

For Buffy’s sake.

Willow had told him about the spell they had attempted again and about being possessed, there was no other word for it, as she finished chanting the incantation. She seemed convinced it had worked, and some part of him wanted to believe her. Another part, the part that still hurt so much from Jenny’s death or maybe it was the one that had suffered under Angelus’ ministrations, simply hoped the vampire was dust and gone from their lives for good.

If he had been alone, Giles might have remained in the car for a few seconds in order to collect his thoughts, but Xander bolted for the mansion as soon as the engine stopped leaving Giles with no choice but to follow. His heart beat faster than it should have, anticipation mixed with the residual fear of his earlier torture; but he refused to show either to the young man. Xander had insisted on coming along, and Giles had hesitated, wavering between being thankful and annoyed. Thankful, in the end, because his bandaged hand could barely do more than hold a cross. But then, he was almost completely certain that neither the cross, nor the small bottles of holy water lining his jacket’s pockets, the stake in his left hand, or the crossbow in Xander’s possession would need to be used. The world had not been sucked into hell, which meant that they had won, either by ensouling or by dusting. They were only here to know how it had ended. And to make sure Buffy was alright.

Side by side, they walked toward the mansion they had left in such a hurry only a few hours before. The door was wide open, and no sound was coming from inside. Except for… a faint, very faint murmur. No, not a murmur. Moans. Painful moans. A sudden pang of guilt ran through Giles as he abandoned all caution and hurried inside. Was Buffy hurt? Had he hidden in safety while she laid here in pain, waiting for help to find her?

“Buffy?” he called out as he stepped in the mansion foyer, his voice holding more anxiety than he would have wished.

No answer, except for devastating silence as the moaning stopped.

For a second, the massive statue in the center of the room distracted him. There was no sword trapped in it anymore, so Angelus must have awakened Acathla. With the directions he had managed to extract from Giles. Once again, more guilt clawed at the Watcher. Yet, now the statue was dormant and no hell was threatening to swallow this world. So, how had Buffy reversed the process?

And where was she?

Clutching the cross so hard it dug into his injured hand, he looked around. For a body. For ashes. For blood. For any clue of what might have happened. He was aware, vaguely, of Xander doing the same, but couldn’t summon the force to advise him to be cautious. Not when he had found a sword that was stained with blood. Whose blood was it?

Hand trembling, he tucked the stake in his pocket and picked up the sword. It felt heavy in his hand, the thought that the dried blood could be Buffy’s weighing profoundly on him.

“Giles!”

Xander’s call pulled the Watcher from his increasingly worrisome thoughts; and he quickly turned to look at the youngster. The boy was on the other side of the room, the darker side, standing rigidly as he peered into the shadows. Giles’ heart clenched painfully as he wondered what was hiding in that recess of darkness.

_Please, please, let her be safe…_

With leaden steps, he joined the young man, the same plea running repeatedly through his mind. When he reached Xander and his eyes adjusted to the lack of light, he could only let out a relieved sigh. It wasn’t Buffy’s corpse that held Xander’s attention. Not Buffy at all.

Huddled against the wall, was a vampire Giles had last seen sitting in a wheelchair. Now, he was crouched on the floor, arms wrapped tightly around his torso, frantically rocking back and forth without interruption.

His hold on the sword became firmer, and Giles lifted it to place it under the vampire’s chin. It took a fair amount of pressure for the blond to lift his head; and when he did, Giles felt a cold shiver run down his spine. The vampire’s eyes were bloodshot, completely expressionless, and there were tear tracks down his cheeks. What the hell had happened to put him in this state? Once more, fear for Buffy’s safety settled in her Watcher’s bones.

“Where is Buffy?” he asked coldly, the sharp blade of the sword suddenly pressed a little more insistently for emphasis. The vampire did not seem to notice either the words or the death threat.

“Spike!” Giles shouted and the vampire’s head jerked up. “Where. Is. Buffy?”

The barest hint of recognition flickered in his eyes, though if at the name or Giles’ face, it wasn’t clear.

“Hurt,” he mumbled, turning his head away and not reacting in the slightest when the blade nicked his throat. “Hurt enough to die. Her. Me. He hurt too. But he didn’t die, I didn’t let him die. Had promised her. But hurt, couldn’t be helped. Couldn’t. Really couldn’t. Shut up, I’m telling you I couldn’t! Her dirty angel would have known. I couldn’t…”

The ramblings continued, too low now to understand. Giles stared at spike, trying to decipher what he had heard. Had he meant Buffy was hurt? Hurt enough to die? Was she laying somewhere, bleeding to death while they wasted time with this incoherent demon? This demon who was their only witness?

With some difficulty due to the cracked ribs that were suddenly reminding him of their need for attention, he put a knee to the ground and again used the sword to bring Spike’s attention back to him.

“Listen to me carefully,” he enunciated slowly, an edge of Ripper tainting his voice. “If you do not tell me where Buffy is, I swear I’ll leave you wishing you were in Angelus’ hands, not mine.”

“Angelus?” the vampire repeated, sounding confused. “Gone. To hell too. Swallowed by stone.”

Now that, at least, made some kind of sense. It seemed Angelus had been sent through Acathla. Good riddance. However, that didn’t explain where Buffy was. Unless she had been sucked in too?

“We don’t care about Angelus,” Xander said harshly when the blonde appeared to be drifting back to his own world. “Where is she? Where is Buffy?”

A brief look at Xander, and the vampire’s gaze was once again unfocused, looking at things that weren’t there.

“Gone. All gone. Left me alone. Alone with all of them, but then not really alone am I?”

An unexpected giggle passed Spike’s lips, chilling in its high pitch and ending as abruptly as it had started. Slowly, Giles pulled the sword away from Spike’s throat and straightened.

“Is it just my impression or is he very slightly loony?” Xander asked with a trace of sarcasm. “Should we put him out of his misery and get moving?”

Giles pondered the suggestion, but finally shook his head. What the vampire was saying hinted that he knew what had become of Buffy, but it wasn’t enough to understand what her fate had been, what exactly had happened in this place. They couldn’t stake him before he regained some kind of coherence.

“I think he may be in shock,” he told Xander, without ever taking his gaze off Spike. He was rocking back and forth again, muttering nonsense. “When he snaps out of it, he’ll hopefully be able to tell us what happened. We need him alive, or at least undead.”

With as few words as possible, Giles directed Xander to go get rope in the trunk of the car; and while he waited, he kept an eye on the vampire at his feet. The idea on inviting yet another vamp into his flat wasn’t appealing, but he couldn’t think of any other solution. After all, it was only temporary. They would keep him secured – Giles was sure he could find a way to magically strengthen some chains – for as long as they needed to get a clear answer, and then… well, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

Surprisingly, the vampire could stand and walk. Just as surprisingly, he allowed them to tie him up without protest, as he continued to ramble, lost in his broken monologue. Giles searched each room of the mansion once he was sure Spike wouldn’t be a problem, but there was no trace of Buffy. No clue to what had become of her, except for the answers held by the still rambling vampire in Xander’s custody.

* * * * *

Sunnydale was still sleeping, ignorant that it had been on the edge of being the entrée to Acathla’s super sized dinner. Ignorance was bliss, wasn’t it? It was so much easier for the town’s citizens to sleep at night if they didn’t have to worry about vampires and demons, soul losing boyfriends, and a hell dimension being only a breath away. Buffy wished she too could have pretended that nothing went bump in the night. That the town didn’t have a plethora of people dying in freak accidents. That it was safe to walk the streets as she was doing now. Alas, she knew better than that.

In her mind, the scene kept replaying, over and over, an endless loop she couldn’t escape. Angelus sucked into hell. Her relief that the nightmare was over. Grief that all of this had happened because of her, because of her attachment to Angel, because she was the Slayer. And over the images in slow motion, the soundtrack was her mother’s voice.

_Have you tried not being a Slayer?_

_You walk out of this house, don't even think about coming back!_

Maybe her mother was right after all. Maybe all Buffy had to do was try. Try hard enough. If she pretended there was nothing abnormal about her life, if she made herself forget that demons existed and that her job was to kill them, maybe she would be able to live - really live - like any other girl her age.

Before the sun rose, she snuck into her house – no, not her house, not anymore – into her mother’s house. She took the little money she kept in the top drawer, gathered a few clothes, wrote a quick note, and was out without a backward glance. It was easier that way.

She went to the bus station and bought a ticket, but the bus wasn’t leaving before the middle of the morning. Once more, her feet took her through the town, until she was near Sunnydale High, close enough to see, but not enough to be seen. She felt calmer as she saw her friends and Watcher in front of the school, together, present for each other. She couldn’t hear them, but seeing them was enough. Reassured that they were alright, and certain that they would be better if she wasn’t there to mess up their lives anymore, she turned her back on them and walked away.

* * * * *

_Am I sensing a pattern here or what? First, she turns her back on me, then on her mum and friends… That’s my Slayer, alright. Ready for the worse if the world’s safety is threatened, but choosing the path of least resistance for herself. So strong and so bloody fragile all at once…_

_Although in this case, I probably shouldn’t criticize her. If she had stayed, the Watcher would have staked me right away. All he needed me for was information, and I have no doubt my execution would have been swift if she had come back to him that morning._

_So, Giles and the whelp took me to the Watcher’s flat. I could have freed myself at any time; I just had no desire to do so. No desire for anything at all, actually. All I wanted was for the voices to stop, to be quiet for an instant, but of course, it didn’t work like that. Actually, being close to Giles made things worse. Much worse. He was the last person who had been hurt, although not directly by me, by my lack of doing anything to prevent it. I did nothing while Angelus tortured him; merely prevented his death in exchange for Drusilla’s life and no other reason. Every time he looked at me, every time, I saw his bandaged hand and bruises, I felt renewed guilt._

_I am quite sure I talked too much, in these moments. Let things slip about my fucking soul, about feeling bad for letting him get hurt, about being sorry, and all of that useless rot. I’m not sure whether I should be thankful that he didn’t understand right away. My words were probably too jumbled to make much sense, and from what he says I was talking too quietly most of the time for him to make out what I was saying. He also says he tried to talk to me, to snap me out of the little hellish world I had been caged – or caged myself – in, but he didn’t manage to reach me, and honestly I don’t remember him trying. I know I was chained in his bathtub and sometimes to a chair, but I don’t actually remember much of it. I remember mostly that he was there, always there even when he was gone, and that the voices inside were loudest when he came closer. I remember knowing that he wanted something from me, something I had and could give him, if I just managed to figure out what it was exactly._

_It’s this knowledge that slowly, as a few days went by, gave me the strength to learn how to control the voices, how to make them quiet long enough to be able to hear, understand questions, and give somewhat coherent answers. Many people had been hurt or had died because of me, but Giles was still there, still alive, and I could do something for him. Not much, but something. The beginning of my atonement._

_As if atonement meant anything._

_Still, I don’t know what would have happened to me if I hadn’t had this reason to fight my insanity. I suspect I would have retreated farther and farther into myself, until I had no connection left to the world, until I was reduced to little more than an animal. Until I had followed Angel’s footsteps from a century before._

_Now, he would probably get all flustered and start a new round of glasses polishing if I ever told him, and it would be just as bloody embarrassing for me, but part of me is grateful that the Watcher took me in. By doing that, he gave me a link to humans that was impossible to ignore. Started the process of giving me a purpose, a way out of my madness. And he did all that without even knowing it, or knowing what was going on in my head. So yeah, grateful._

_You realize that if you tell him I’ll not only deny it but the consequences will be very unpleasant for you, don’t you? Good. Glad that we understand each other._


	3. Spark

With a sigh, Buffy locked the door behind her before stepping out of her shoes and collapsing on the bed. It was a good thing that her new home was so small, that way she didn’t have to go far to get into bed.

Her second day at her new job was finally over. Second day in hell…

She cut off that train of thought right away. She wasn’t going to think of hell, wasn’t going to think of Acathla, and certainly wasn’t going to think of Angel. It was useless to dwell on those things. She tried to turn her thoughts back to her friends and mother, wondering how they were, if they were angry and disappointed with her. Probably. Thinking of them didn’t help much either.

Trying to distract herself, she got ready for the night, making a mental inventory of all the things she needed to buy to make her place more hospitable. It would take time, but eventually she’d be fine. She had to be.

Sleep was long in coming. It always was, now. She couldn’t rest before mentally reviewing all her mistakes that had let to the most recent fiasco in her life. All the mistakes she was determined never to make again. When she finally drifted off, her face and pillow once more held the evidence of her tears.

* * * * *

It had been five days since Joyce had told her daughter not to come back. Five days of staring at the note she had found on Buffy’s bed. Five days of making breakfast and dinner for two and hoping any little noise outside was Buffy coming back. Five days of glancing at the phone and hoping it would ring and Buffy would ask whether she could come home yet. Five days of hell. On the afternoon of the sixth, she decided that she had waited enough and needed to do something. Anything.

In an attempt to understand what had been going on exactly in Buffy’s life, what it mean to be the ‘Slayer’, and maybe to find a clue of where she had fled, she hunted down Buffy’s diary. Between the mattress and bed frame, she found a slim, girlish journal. She barely read the first few pages before realizing that this couldn’t be it, it was just too plain and boring. A decoy. A more intensive search and she finally discovered an unadorned diary, hidden under a loose board in the closet. This was the one. She read it from the cover to the last entry. Until today, she had always refused to violate her daughter’s privacy, but there was simply no other way for her to get answers.

She didn’t particularly like the answers she found.

She didn’t like the repeated entries about late-night patrols and strolls in cemeteries hand in hand with Angel. The short notes, dates and names that she finally understood were death notices for people Buffy had known. The heart-crushing, tear-stained rendition of the day Angel had become Angelus. The despair and self-loathing hidden in the following pages, until that final entry where she stated that she was ready now to kill Angelus. And through it all, the constant references to Willow and Xander, who were apparently helping her slay, and to a ‘Watcher’, whose name Joyce recognized instantly.

As she closed the diary and absently ran her fingers over the smooth cover, tears began trickling down her cheeks. How could she have been so blind? How had she managed to delude herself into thinking that everything was perfectly fine and normal in their little family? By having a few drinks too many? By not asking enough questions about bloodstained clothing? By being oblivious to Buffy slipping in and out at all hours of the night? By simply being a bad mother?

When she had regained some control, she went to the phone. Willow had called twice since that fateful night, inquiring about Buffy, asking Mrs. Summers to call as soon as she came back. Joyce called her and demanded Giles’ phone number or address. She received both.

The sun was quickly descending toward the horizon, and she knew, now, the dangers of being out at night in Sunnydale; but that did not stop her. She hopped into her car, and five minutes later was knocking on the door of Sunnydale High’ librarian. Of her daughter’s Watcher. Of the man who was apparently a father figure to Buffy, a mentor. Because of this relationship, Joyce hoped that he might have an idea of where she was. Because of it, she also wanted to rip him to shreds for taking her daughter away from her, for encouraging her to be involved in such dangerous activities.

When the door opened and he appeared, she wasn’t sure anymore whether to plead or accuse. Apparently, he was just as flustered by her presence, because he didn’t say a word, simply nodded and allowed her to come inside. They sat in his living room, both of them silent for a few minutes, until he finally asked:

“Would you care for some tea?”

The incongruity of the question allowed her to finally speak.

“No, but I would like my daughter back,” she replied blankly.

Rupert Giles sighed, and somehow suddenly he seemed ten years older.

“I wish I could tell you where she is,” he replied softly, “but the truth is, I don’t know any more than you do.”

With that, her biggest hope crumbled.

“I have been looking for her,” he continued, “and so are my colleagues. We haven’t found anything yet. Did she…”

He paused; long enough for him to remove his glasses and start polishing them. Long enough for Joyce to notice, of all things, that he had beautiful eyes.

“Did she leave any clue?” he continued after putting his glasses back on. “Do you know if she came back to your house after…”

Carefully, Joyce pulled the note from her purse and offered it to the man. He took it, read it, shook his head lightly, and gave it back.

“Yes, it doesn’t help much,” he conceded. “At least now we know she was well enough to get to your place and leave.”

The world froze. Six days and never once, not even for one second, had Joyce thought that Buffy could be anything other than fine, wherever she was. She was the Slayer, wasn’t she? Didn’t that mean super strong?

“Why… What do you mean, well enough?” she asked, half choking on the words. “What is it exactly she did that night? She didn’t…”

Buffy had not explained. But then, Joyce had not been ready to hear. She was, now, but it was too late for her daughter to tell the story, so her Watcher did. And quite a story it was. A demon made of stone, another demon wanting to send the world to hell, and her daughter caught in the middle.

“So, you don’t even really know what happened?”

Her voice was trembling, as were her hands. She tried to control both, but couldn’t.

“Not yet. I hope to know soon, though.”

Probably because he didn’t know what else to say, he told her about his ‘guest’, a rambling vampire chained in his bathroom. About having hope he would allow them to understand what had happened and where Buffy was. Even dazed as she was, she recognized the demon’s name, and told the man about Buffy’s truce with him before she disappeared that night. 

That surprised him. The surprise however was much greater when she insisted on talking to Spike.

* * * * *

It was a night full of surprises, Giles reflected as he leaned against the wall and observed the scene in front of him.

First, Buffy’s mother showing up on his doorstep. He had no idea before this that she knew what his role was in her daughter’s life; yet, her simple presence here meant that she was aware of it. Then, the letter she had showed him. Only a few words, but written after Buffy’s fight at the mansion, so at least they knew she was alright, despite Spike repeated mentions of her being hurt. The revelation that Buffy had made a truce with this same vampire. Mrs. Summers insisting until he allowed her to see the vamp. Finally, yet most importantly, said vamp being somewhat calm for the first time in days as the woman approached him.

“Don’t get too close,” he advised as she stepped next to the tub. “He’s still dangerous.”

A fact that had been increasingly difficult to remember, lately. Giles had no doubt – and it didn’t make for restful nights – that if Spike had wanted to free himself, he would have found a way. Yet, so far, he had never tried. This didn’t mean he never would.

“Spike?” the woman said very softly, and the vampire’s eyes settled on her. “Do you know where Buffy is?”

Very unlikely, Giles thought. If Buffy had gone back to her home after leaving the mansion, how could Spike know where she was? Moreover, it meant that it was now useless to keep him around. Too dangerous also. Better to take care of it while he was still too confused to fight back, even if it felt like cheating. He kept his doubts and resolution silent though, curious to see if the vampire, suddenly so quiet after days of near constant muttering, was going to answer. Once again, the Watcher was surprised when he did, and with more coherence than ever so far.

“Gone,” he said in a raspy voice, repeating his answer from the first night. “Didn’t kill me and then she left. Why didn’t she kill me?”

“I don’t know,” Mrs. Summers answered. “Did she tell you where she was going?”

The vampire’s head tilted slightly, as if he was listening to someone, but no one was talking.

“She said she hurt,” he announced abruptly. “Hurt enough to die, she said, just like me. She was right. Do you think she knew about the spark?”

The woman shook her head, and Giles took a step forward to offer his support when she started shaking. For a few seconds, she accepted the hand on her arm, before eventually pulling free. She continued to question Spike despite the imminent tears all too clear in her voice.

“How was she hurt, Spike? Was she bleeding? Did she break…”

“No, no, no, no blood this time, only blood is on my hands, in my head. She just hurts, you know…”

Chained hands pulled at the sides of his shirt, exposing the shredded t-shirt underneath; and, over the vampire’s chest, where he was now pointing, were lacerations that Giles had never noticed. How could he have not noticed them? What had the vampire been trying to do, dig out his own heart?

Because of the sight or even possibly Spike’s words, Mrs. Summers covered her mouth with a shaking hand. This time she didn’t, or couldn’t, swallow her sobs.

“There. Inside. Where the spark is. That’s where she hurts. Like me, but different. She cried, too. But you shouldn’t cry for me.”

Under other circumstances, it might have been humorous to have the insane vampire trying to comfort the Slayer’s mother, but Giles couldn’t see the humor in it. However, he finally could see the light. For days, the pieces of the puzzle had refused to click in place and he had been unable to understand what had happened to the vampire to put him in such a mental state. Until now… Mumbled words of sorry, torture, hurting, guilt, and now this, blood on his hand, hurting inside, a spark… The idea was ridiculous, and yet it made too much sense not to consider it.

The question fell from his lips before he could think it through.

“Spike? Do you have your soul back?”

Icy blue eyes turned to him, considered him for a moment, before Spike finally gave him an answer of sorts.

“They put the spark in me and now all it does is burn.”

As he observed the vampire, trying to read him for any kind of duplicity, Giles wasn’t sure what to think. On one hand, it certainly explained the madness that had seemingly taken Spike. On the other, it was extraordinary. Willow had cast a spell on Angelus, not Spike, so how could this have happened? Was it because they were from the same vampire line? But if so, why hadn’t Spike been souled when Angelus had been cursed the first time? What had been different this time? Unless…

If Buffy had already sent Angelus through Acathla and closed the stone when the spell had been cast, it could have affected the closest vampire instead. That was the only explanation he could think of. It raised too many questions for Giles’ peace of mind. What was he going to do with the vamp now? Could he still stake him as he had planned to? If Angel’s example was any clue, he ought to. And still… was it why Buffy had let him live?

“A soul?” Joyce asked after a couple of minutes when neither of them spoke. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m not sure I understand either,” Giles muttered. He needed a drink. Or two. And not to be given choices like this one anymore.

* * * * *

_Joyce crying is one of the things I remember most vividly from these first few days after it happened. At the time, I know I thought she was crying because of me, for me, because she pitied me and was showing compassion. I know better, now, of course. Back then, she didn’t know me enough to have this kind of feelings toward my poor self. She was also completely broken from the slayer being MIA. However, to my deluded mind, she was crying for my sins, and that this lady may find me worthy of her tears somehow added to my desire for atonement. I had no clue yet how to atone, but it was becoming a recurring theme._

_I remember broken parts of a conversation, too. Giles talking about staking me because I obviously knew nothing more about Buffy. Joyce protesting loudly that Buffy had trusted me, not killed me when she could have, so what business had Giles to want to do it? There was more to it, but again, there were tears. It seems that Joyce couldn’t bear the idea of killing the last person who had seen her daughter. Lucky me._

_Somehow, she made Giles promise not to dust me – at least not yet. He wasn’t happy about it, which was clear when he came back to see me after she left; but he didn’t stake me. He sipped a glass of scotch, and for a while, I just watched him watch me. In the end, before he left, he said:_

_“I won’t let you become a new Angel. If it means staking you, I won’t hesitate.”_

_His comment left my souled self rather confused. Of course I wasn’t like Angel, couldn’t the Watcher see it? I hadn’t run away, had I? It might have been a little hard to do seeing how I was chained to a bloody bathtub, but I hadn’t run away._

_Even today, after all that happened, that’s still the first thing that comes to my mind when I think of Angel. OK, the second. First is, fucking bastard. Second, ran away and left us. All he ever did was run, and try to escape the soul without understanding he couldn’t, or at least not like that._

_And me, on the other hand, I…_

_What do you mean, I’m going too fast? It’s my story, I bloody well will tell it as I… Oh, fine, fine, go ahead, be my guest._


	4. Choices

It was the last day of class, and most students had already started their vacation, leaving Sunnydale High very empty. The library, however, was currently hosting more students than Giles sometimes saw in a full day. They weren’t there for books, nor were they there to say goodbye before summer break. It was a full Scoobies meeting, and he was still slightly astonished that he was willing to ask them their opinion in the matter. They were children even if he managed to forget that fact when he assigned patrols. He should have been able to make the decision alone; and he should have made it long ago. 

“I still think we should stake him,” Xander reiterated, an opinion that he hadn’t changed after half an hour of debate.

Again, Willow countered him.

“But he has a soul! He’s not going to hurt anyone. Plus, he helped Buffy. That ought to count for something.”

There was a pause. The ‘B’ word had been uttered. So far, they had managed to dance around the subject without actually pronouncing her name. Difficult, but feasible. It seemed that Willow thought that it was time to pull the big guns out. The Slayer had made a truce with William the Bloody; and as a result, he had been ensouled. From what they could determine from Spike’s succinct but somehow clearer and now saner explanation, she had had the chance to dust him, but had refused to do it.

“How do we know he’s not going to hurt anyone?” Cordelia asked, her tone not accusing but merely concerned. “And for his soul… Angel had one too, and we know how that ended.”

Pain flooded Giles, but he managed to hide his feelings. Concentrating very hard on the thought that Angelus was in hell – sent there by his grand-childe and not Buffy as they had originally thought – he tried to bring his mind to the matter at hand. This was Spike, not Angel. The killer of two Slayers. It shouldn’t have taken such a debate.

“How do you know _I_ ’m not going to hurt anyone?”

It was the first time Oz had voiced his opinion, and the rare words made an impact on the assembled youth. Giles gazed at the boy, slightly worried that the young man had thoughts of this nature.

“It’s different,” Xander began, but Oz interrupted him right away.

“Is it?”

A genuine question, and for someone who didn’t know Oz as they did, it might have been difficult to know what Oz’s point was exactly. The fact that he had spoken at all, however, made it clear to all present.

Stalemate. Two in favor of dusting Spike, two against, and Giles still wasn’t any closer to making up his mind about it.

“Alright, I have taken enough of your time,” he said with a sigh. “Go home and enjoy the beginning of your vacation. I’ll see you tonight.”

There were unhappy murmurs. Giles wasn’t sure if they were about the prospect of patrol or the fact that he might decide without them, and he didn’t want to know either. He shouldn’t have tried to involve them in this matter or have accepted their help for patrols. Buffy was his Slayer, he was more than able to step in for her and should have. More able, certainly, than these children were. They had insisted, however, pledging their friendship to their absent peer in the only way they knew how. Giles was scared for them each time he patrolled with them and even more so when he suspected they did it without him. He admired them, in some way, but still thought they were naive. Yet, there was little he could do to prevent them from patrolling.

He managed to keep his thoughts on them and off Spike as he gathered some personal items and left the library. He would come back the next day, along with the rest of the staff, and properly clean out the building, although for the past week he had been taking home a few of the more dangerous items each night. Weapons hidden in a sport bag, ancient books carried in a cardboard box, anything to appear less suspicious. Still, he knew Snyder was keeping an eye on him, dropping hints that some staff members might not be back after the summer vacation. Giles ignored him, knowing quite well that the Council had ways to keep him employed at Sunnydale High. Hopefully, when it would be time to go back to school, Buffy would be back amongst them and his presence in the building would have some meaning again.

Once he reached his home, he couldn’t avoid the subject anymore. He couldn’t stand the idea of being in the flat with the vampire all day long now that school had ended. He needed to either stake him or let him go. It shouldn’t have been so hard to make the choice. A soul shouldn’t have made such a difference, or made him pause in his duty. It was more than pause, actually. Giles was considering letting Spike go, even after what had happened and he couldn’t understand why. Was it because of Buffy? Because Spike had helped her, and she had not killed him? It was still difficult to believe that the vampire had agreed to a truce with her, almost as difficult as to believe that she had also agreed. He had Joyce Summers’ word on it though, so it had to be true.

With a sigh, he put water on the stove to brew tea. It was usually a stronger beverage he preferred when pondering Spike’s fate, but he needed to have a clear mind this time. As he grabbed a cup, his grip faltered and he dropped it. The porcelain shards all over the kitchen floor were a sudden and grim reminder that his hand wasn’t working as well as it used to and probably never would again. There was no mark on it, though, as he reassured himself by bringing his hand up in front of his face. The damage was inside, never to be seen by anyone, and yet he felt it very clearly.

Just as clearly as he remembered that day - the torture at Angelus’ hands, Spike’s complacent gaze. He had his answer. He had been an accomplice of Angelus and the soul didn’t change what or who he was. The porcelain crunched under his heels as he hastily walked through the kitchen and toward the bathroom, grabbing a stake on the way. As he walked in, Spike’s head was thrown back against the edge of the tub, and he was staring at the ceiling with the air of someone who was seeing more than what was there. He turned toward Giles, barely enough to look at him, and for the first time in weeks a smile touched his lips.

“Finally going to do it?” he commented, emotionless. “It’s about time.”

It was the same voice all over again. The same ‘I couldn’t care less’ tone Spike had used when he had advised Angelus not to kill Giles that fateful night. Yet, this time, Giles could suddenly understand better than he had ever wanted. The vampire cared now, just as he had cared back then. There was a reason why he had talked Angelus out of killing him, that reason being Buffy and the deal he had made with her. And despite the affectation, despite what he was pretending, despite the fact that he would probably not try to protect himself if Giles approached and struck, he didn’t want to be dusted now.

“Tell me one thing,” the Watcher said coldly as he considered his unlikely guest. “What would you do if I were to decide to let you go?”

Surprise did not even begin to describe Spike.

“Let me go?” he repeated. “Why would you?”

Why, indeed, was the question.

“Didn’t you ever think that you’ve been cursed for a purpose?” he replied. “Maybe you have a role to play in the grand plan of things. Maybe you can do enough good to balance whatever…”

A burst of laughing interrupted him. A very sad, depressing kind of laugh.

“Do enough good to balance the scales? Do you have any idea how deeply the scales are leaning right now? Do you have any fucking clue who I am? What I’ve done? What I am capable of?”

Incredulity was tinted by bitterness and anger. It sounded a lot like Spike had indeed thought of all that, but had reached the conclusion it would be too hard.

“No, not really,” Giles replied calmly. “I do not know what you are capable of today. Yes, I know what you did, what you were. But right now, all I see is a demon who is being given a chance to redeem his soul, and seems too scared to even try.”

“’M not scared,” Spike muttered sulkily and started a new round of brooding.

Giles sighed, and after a small shake of his head, he returned to his tea. He would call Mrs. Summers and offer a disinvite spell on her house and tell the children on patrol. Then, he’d let Spike go.

* * * * *

_I wasn’t sulky. And I very certainly wasn’t brooding. Get your facts straight, would you? Just because Giles thought I was doesn’t mean it was true. Got it? Good._

_I was bloody scared, I can admit to that. Although you’d better not tell anyone I said as much._

_As long as I was Giles’ not so unwilling prisoner, I didn’t have to make decisions about my life, didn’t have to make choices between what the soul asked and what the demon demanded, didn’t have to do anything at all except learn to take ownership of my guilt, and control it instead of letting it control me. When he decided to let me go, I wasn’t ready yet. I don’t think I would ever have been. So, scared. I’m man enough to admit it._

_That evening, he went out, as he usually did, for patrol I suppose although he left early. He had called Joyce, asked her to let him disinvite me from her house, and she had accepted. When he came back, he smelled of blood. His blood, and I realized he had been hurt. Not too badly, probably just a scratch, but still hurt. After weeks of him feeding me pig’s blood, it should have made me want to feed. It didn’t though. I think if I had been able to throw up, I might have. He didn’t say anything about that, didn’t say much of anything until the end, actually. He untied me, handed me my duster, and showed me to the door. Said something along the lines of hoping he wasn’t making a terrible mistake, and that I would pay very dearly if he were. Warned me that he was going to do the spell as soon as I gone, so coming back was not in the cards. Finally told me that they could use the help on patrol, if I had nothing better to do. All of it in as few words as possible._

_Confused doesn’t even begin to describe my state of mind._

_Until then, I had been sure he’d eventually stake me, and it was only a matter of time. And I was OK with that. Really. If he had dusted me, I would have been free of my soul and that unnatural guilt, and an eternity of torment seemed rather attractive when compared to constant madness._

_His little speech about redemption and doing good deeds was what confused me the most. I had entertained the idea of atonement, but not to the point of thinking what I did could really make a difference. It was more along the lines of, if I help him, the one person still left from that night, maybe I won’t feel as guilty about letting him be hurt. Which turned out to be wrong, by the way, because when I was finally able to answer his questions he appeared profoundly disappointed in my answers. No relief that way._

_But the way he was saying it, it was more about making things even. Paying for the bad by playing for good. Balancing the scales. Completely different. Made it sound like I could make up for having slaughtered someone by saving someone else a hundred years later. Or several someones, I suppose, with the interest. The concept felt strange. Even today, I’m not convinced that’s how it works. It seems too easy._

_So, what does a souled vamp do when he regains his freedom? Not much, actually. I spent the night walking through Sunnydale, avoiding areas where people were, not sure of where to go and what to do. When sunrise became an issue, I honestly thought about waiting for it. And then, I realized I was close to the mansion. Went there without a second thought._

_Acathla was still there, of course, and I spent a while simply standing in front of the stone, watching it as if, by staring long enough, I could make it open again for me. Safe enough to say it didn’t. Eventually, getting some rest began to seem like a good idea. I couldn’t get a foot in the master bedroom, intuitively knowing it smelled of both Angelus and Dru; and I couldn’t face that. The room I had taken for my own after Angelus moved in was also a no go – I had killed in there, a few times, when Dru had remembered to bring me takeout from her nights out. Takeout. Nice euphemism for humans, isn’t it?_

_Down the hall was a small room that we had never used. No bed, but after weeks of sleeping in a bathtub, it wasn’t really a problem. I scavenged the house for blankets, tackled one over the window, and wrapped myself in the others to sleep. Within an hour, I was back in the main room. Back to Acathla. I spent the day sitting in front of it, finally falling asleep at its feet._

_Then it was night again, and, following a decades old habit, I went out. Again, without knowing where I was going. I was hungry, but the thought of feeding was nauseating. I ended up on Revello drive. I don’t really know why._

_Joyce saw me. I’ve realized since that she was waiting for the Slayer, and looking through the window toward the street was something she did unconsciously. I wasn’t sure whether to run or get closer; but when she opened the door, I did the latter. I noticed she remained safely inside, out of harm’s way. Giles must have been adamant in his warnings._

_She asked me how I was, and I didn’t have an answer. I was still getting used to it, to all of it. I told her I was sorry I couldn’t help her find her daughter, and she nodded. That was it. Nothing more to say. I was ready to get on my way, when a slip of a girl peeked at me from behind her mother and asked me if I was a good guy now, and if I was killing vampires._

_That’s what I remember. I wonder how it really happened since Dawn wasn’t there. Did Joyce say something that the monks later changed to Dawn saying? Something that gave me the weird idea that it would be easier to face up to the guilt if I knew at least one person believed in me? I often wondered why the monks gave the Bit and I such a history. Starting when Angelus decided to kidnap her and I faced him down and pointed out that it was the best way to piss off the Slayer until he gave up that silly notion, then meeting her when I came to offer a truce to her sister, and these few words that evening that changed my view on things._

_I started lying to her that night, and then realized I couldn’t, and changed back to the truth. No, I wasn’t patrolling. Not yet. But I was planning to. I had decided to do it five seconds before I said it, but it was planning, wasn’t it? She gave me a lopsided grin. I think she already had a bit of a crush on me._

_Not to lie to her, I went patrolling after that, and discovered that staking vampires felt good for the soul. It was my intention to stay away from the Scoobies. I’m not sure why, maybe because they had known me evil, and I didn’t want to see them look at me like I was still something they ought to be wary of._

_Of course, my plans never work, and this one didn’t either. It wasn’t long before I let myself be caught in their games. Not really reluctant, but still on my guard around them, just like they were. Slowly, they began to rely on me a little more. Not trust me, I don’t think it ever went that far, but… it felt good that they were at least giving me the benefit of doubt. Because when the Slayer came back, three months later, she didn’t._


	5. A Night Among Others

Two more weeks, and it would be time to go back to school. Willow was both thrilled and anxious at the prospect. It was her high school senior year, the thing she had been waiting for since fourth grade that would open to her the doors of university and adulthood. Yet, it wouldn’t be the same without her best friend. And it certainly wouldn’t be easy if she had to patrol almost every night with the gang. How was she supposed to go to school, do her homework, practice magic, be with Oz, and be out late every night? Or for that matter, how was she going to convince her mother to let her out every night once the summer break was over? 

She understood now the constraints of Buffy’s life. She even understood how easy it had been for her friend to fall in love with Angel. Not that Willow had any romantic feeling for Spike; Oz was all she wanted and more. But the souled vampire was… fascinating. She was kind of proud too, that she had been the one to give him a soul. Granted, it wasn’t what she had intended to do, but the simple fact that she had been able to successfully perform such a difficult spell… well, it gave her a lot of confidence in her magical abilities. Now if Giles would only help her practice and learn more, all would be perfect. As perfect as things could be, when school was only two weeks away and she had so many things on her plate. Like those vampires straight ahead.

She clutched her stake and watched apprehensively as Xander, Giles and Spike took on the three vamps. Oz, Cordelia and herself were backup, and all three of them waited for an opening to jump in and use their stakes. Their little group had gotten well organized over the summer; and with Spike leading them to vampires’ hunting grounds, they rarely spent a night without at least staking a couple of them. Their miss rate was lower every week; Willow kept detailed counts of their stats.

Giles was the first to stake his vamp. For an old man, he wasn’t so bad. Of course, he would probably have objected to her calling him old. Then it was Xander’s, staked by Oz while Xander held him down. Which left Spike’s. It felt rather weird to Willow that the one person amongst them who was the strongest was more often than not the last one to end his fight. And it was rare that Spike ended a night without new bruises or cuts visible on his body.

Sometimes, she suspected he did it on purpose. She wished she could have talked to him, made sure he was alright – the blond had jumped into fights often enough to help a Scoobie for her not to want to return the favor – but he was keeping them all at bay. Very much like Angel had, she couldn’t help thinking to herself. He was there for them, but at the same time he seemed… elsewhere, in a place where talking was done only when necessary, smiling didn’t exist, and disappearing without a ‘good night’ was perfectly fine. Like he was doing right now. Giles had helped him by staking his vamp, before announcing that they were done for the night; and now, Spike was walking away. There was a slight limp to his step. Hurt again.

“You OK?” Oz asked as he slipped his arm around her.

“Fine,” she answered with a nod and a faint smile. “Just… a bit worried, I guess.”

They started walking, the five of them more aware of their surroundings than they appeared.

“Worried about what?” Cordelia asked. “We got them all, didn’t we?”

Willow felt like rolling her eyes at the statement. Cordelia hadn’t helped much tonight, although to be honest neither had Willow.

“Don’t you think,” she began hesitantly, then found confidence in Oz’s encouraging smile, “that Spike is fighting below his abilities? I mean, he killed two Slayers, and he managed to kill Angelus when… when we had so much trouble getting rid of him, so why is he barely able to stake one lowly vamp?”

She had been about to mention Buffy, but even now, that particular subject was still too painful. Better to avoid it as much as possible.

“Because if he kills them all in one night we won’t need him as often and Giles won’t give him any money?” Xander suggested, but his tone was only half joking. “I mean, he’s useful, sure, but he’s still a vamp. Don’t you think he worries that if we don’t need him anymore we’ll stake him? That was the initial plan.”

For a few seconds, no one answered. They had all begun to rely on Spike and hadn’t discussed staking him in quite some time. The last time was when they had talked about the curse and its clause with him, warning him about getting too happy. His reaction had been to shake his head, and mutter something about them having no clue about what he was going through. Although, he had said it in a much more colorful way.

Eventually, Giles sighed.

“I suppose I should talk to him.”

* * * * *

Like most evenings, as soon as patrol was over, Spike directed his steps toward Revello Drive. After that first night when he had decided, with a little help, that maybe assisting the Slayer’s gang might be a good idea, he had hesitated about coming back. Part of him wanted to tell Joyce about his accomplishments, but at the same time, he was afraid that she wouldn’t care and all of his efforts would seem futile. For a few nights, he had lurked, always going back to the mansion when the house’s lights were turned off. Then one evening she had seen him and offered to share a cup of hot chocolate she had just warmed. It had become an almost nightly ritual.

Forgoing the front door, Spike slipped into the backyard and took a seat on the porch after knocking on the kitchen window. He didn’t have an invite in the house, at his own insistence. He was sane enough to realize that madness sometimes was more of an issue, and he didn’t want to be able to get into the house if his sanity ever shattered completely and the demon took over. At his demand too, Joyce was not sitting outside. She pulled a chair to the door, and remained safely inside as they shared hot chocolate and talked. Sometimes, she was the one doing the talking. Sometimes, he was. And sometimes, neither of them could say anything, and they just kept each other company. 

Tonight, she was in a chatty mood, which was good because he didn’t feel like talking. She told him about her gallery and the shipment of Nigerian artifacts she had ordered. Then she told him about the book she had just finished, and although he had really no interest in the angst-filled story, he nodded at all the right places. When it was finally time for him to leave, he felt warm. 

He knew, deep down, that there really was little in common between Joyce and his mother. And yet, each time he sat there and listened to her talk, however uninteresting their chat might be, he was taken back a hundred and twenty years before. The contact soothed his soul, enough for him to have some much needed peace and rest. It was always too soon when the time for goodbyes came.

Hands buried in his jeans pockets, he walked back to the mansion, his eyes on the ground in front of him the entire way. He only looked up when he reached the door and found it open. A now well-known scent in the air made it clear who was there, and he almost left again, unwilling to talk to the human now. But after a short hesitation, he finally entered the mansion. Being uncomfortable around Giles was certainly the least of the possible punishments that could be inflicted on him.

* * * * *

Giles was ready to leave when Spike finally arrived. Staying in the mansion alone, for more than an hour, was hardly on his list of interesting things to do. Yet he had stayed, waiting for Spike, partly because he wanted to know where he had been, and partly because he knew that if he didn’t talk to him right away, he would conveniently forget to do it at all.

He had waited in the main room, unwilling to view any more of the mansion and reopen painful memories. Acathla was still there, and for a while, he studied the stone. It was closed for good, he knew that, and there was nothing malevolent about it anymore. So why did Giles feel like the demon was watching him, ready to awaken at the first mistake?

“Rupert,” Spike acknowledged his presence as he walked in.

As usual, Spike refused to meet his gaze. It was sometimes hard to believe that he had been – still was actually – a Master vampire. But then, he no longer looked like he used to. His hair was unkempt, the loose shirts he wore did nothing to hide his weight loss, and ever since he had stopped wearing his leather duster, he appeared oddly… frail. Almost as if the coat had been armor and now that it was gone Spike was exposed.

“Why did you stop wearing that coat of yours?” 

That wasn’t what Giles had meant to say, far from it, but now that he had noticed it again, it was hard not to ask. Spike seemed startled by the question; it obviously had not been what he had expected.

“Because I got it in New York,” he answered cryptically.

For the first time in what was probably months, Spike looked straight at him, the guilt clearly etched on his features.

“New York,” Giles repeated blankly when he understood. “I see.”

The Watcher was the one who broke eye contact. Sometimes, it seemed frighteningly easy to forget exactly what Spike was.

“We should get rid of that thing,” he said as he gestured toward Acathla. “Drop it at the bottom of the ocean, maybe, so that…”

“No.”

The word was uttered quietly, but with a strength that Giles couldn’t recall having heard in the vampire’s voice since he had been cursed.

“Why not?” he countered. “As far as home decoration goes, I am quite sure you could find better. A sofa would be good, for one thing, so that your guests don’t have to stand for hours on end. Where were you, anyway?”

Spike didn’t react at all to the sarcasm. In fact, he almost seemed ashamed.

“Was talking with Joyce,” he said slowly, reluctantly. “And I need the stone here.”

Both statements upset Giles more than they should have. He took a couple of steps until he was standing right in front of Spike.

“Explain yourself,” he demanded coldly.

Giles wasn’t sure which was most troubling. That Spike complied, or that Giles had been sure he would.

“Joyce… she’s lonely with the Slayer gone. So I stop by sometimes. She likes the company. I stay outside, though. Never in. And Acathla… I need it. To remember. Can’t forget. Don’t want to forget. Ever.”

The variations of Spike’s voice when he talked of Joyce and when he talked of remembering were impossible to miss. Fondness for the first, despair for the second. And that despair allowed Giles to let drop the subject of Mrs. Summers – he’d have to talk to her though, caution her about trusting the vampire too much – to get back to the initial reason of his visit.

“Spike? The children and I have been wondering if you are… alright. You seem a little… off, however inadequate that expression may be.”

For the second time in one night, the Spike’s eyes sought Giles’, and the Watcher shivered at the deadness he saw there. 

“I’m a vampire and I have a soul,” he said blankly. “What the hell is right with that, Watcher?”

Giles didn’t have any answer to that, and he simply watched the vampire retreat to what was presumably his room without another word.

* * * * *

_Just a night among many others. They all blur in my mind now. Day after day, night after night, the same thing. Wake up with my throat raw from screaming because of nightmares that felt too much like the past. Feed on cold pig’s blood when I had some, or go hungry when I didn’t. Pace like a caged wolf and wait for the sun to go down. Find the humans and trail after them, showing them where to find vampires since that was what they expected from me. Inflict some pain, receive some back in return. Go spend a quiet hour or few minutes with Joyce. Get a smile or two from the Bit – although she wasn’t really there, was she? Damn these monks for messing with my mind. Anyway, whether it was only to see Joyce or to see both Summers ladies, Revello was often on my way. After that, back to the mansion. Follow my nightly penance rituals. Drink booze when I had some. Try to fall asleep, knowing that with sleep the nightmares would eventually come._

_I’m not sure what to make of Giles’ concern that night. I always assumed he was keeping an eye on me because he was still half-convinced he had made a mistake by releasing me, but maybe it wasn’t entirely that. Same thing for the Scoobies. It never occurred to me that they might see how bad I felt and care about it. Shows how much I know, huh?_

_I wasn’t lying when I told him I needed Acathla to remember, but it was more than that. As long as the stone was there, I could pretend to myself that I still hoped it was going to open. Open and swallow me. Open and give me back my Princess. Either one would have been good, or so I thought. In my deluded mind, she had a soul too, and we would have helped each other to be stronger than the pain. Bloody romantic, ain’t it?_

_Sometimes, I even dared hope that Angel would be back. He had survived a hundred years with a soul, and I was certain he would have been able to tell me how he had done it, give me the answers that would make everything easier and simpler and the sunlight less appealing. I never thought until it was pointed out to me that I didn’t have to try to be like him. Never thought that his way of dealing with his soul wasn’t the only way, and might not be the best either. I got the point, eventually. I guess I have to thank the Slayer for that. Though helping me was certainly the farthest thing from her mind at that time.,/i >_


	6. Not Like Him

The first part of coming back home had gone well, and for that Buffy was grateful. Her mother had welcomed her with open arms and put to rest her fears that their last words still stood between them. She had even been bordering on smothering, but that certainly was to be expected. They had talked and cried, and after months of near constant solitude, it almost felt like too much for Buffy.

Now came the second part, meeting the Scoobies and seeing if they could forgive her for running away and leaving them to deal with the Hellmouth. From what Joyce had said, they had been patrolling, with or without Giles, ever since she had left. Her mother had hinted that someone else was helping them, but she had not been more explicit than that, and Buffy was a little curious. What imported most to her, however, was to know that she still had friends. She wasn’t sure how she was going to explain to them why she had left. She hoped they didn’t push the issue too much, or at least not too soon.

The summer in LA had been long and very lonely. For the most part, it had been full of regrets and pain over never having found closure in her loss of Angel. She hoped that being back in Sunnydale wouldn’t make things even more difficult than they had been so far.

A noise caught her attention, and she silently walked a bit faster. Soon, she could see a man, dressed in black, who appeared to be looking for something. With a familiar knot in her stomach, she followed him. After a few seconds however, she stepped on something and made some noise, and the man spun toward her and attacked… with a stake.

She didn’t let the oddity stop her and quickly disarmed him, only then noticing the cross hanging from his neck and his familiar features. At the same instant, he recognized her and froze in surprise. After a few seconds and senseless babble, Buffy was relieved to see Xander smile. If he smiled, it meant he wasn’t too upset with her, right? 

She didn’t have time to test that theory, because a vampire erupted from a nearby crate. Lunging at them, he sent them all crashing to the ground. She struck her head on the concrete and was stunned for an instant. When she came back to her senses, she could hear people running toward them, toward where Xander was still fighting the vamp. Before she could do more than get to her feet, another vamp was throwing himself in the mix. A vampire she recognized all too well, one that she very much had hoped never to see again. 

First, get Xander out of there, she told herself, then stake the two vampires.

The plan changed when her friend managed to stake the first one. Only one left, then. Taking hold of his arm, she yanked Spike away from Xander, noticing as she effortlessly wrestled him to the ground that more of her friends were there. Without a second thought, she plunged the stake down. Her friends’ shouts surprised her and slowed down her movement. But not enough.

“Buffy no!”

“Don’t dust him”

“He’s on our side!”

Still with a knee to the ground beside Spike, she stopped her arm, the stake having penetrated his chest only an inch or so, not enough to dust him, but certainly enough to hurt. He wasn’t moving though or pushing her away; he was looking at her blankly, as if daring her to finish what she had started.

“What do you mean, he’s on our side?” she asked the assembled gang, her fingers still wrapped around the stake.

Willow took a step forward, her hand reaching toward Buffy.

“He’s been fighting with us all summer,” she explained. “Let him go, OK?”

Frowning, Buffy pulled the stake free and took Willow’s hand to stand. Keeping a dubious eye on Spike she gave her friends a strained smile.

“Hey guys.”

Their gazes fluttered between her and the vamp, who was now standing with a hand pressed to his chest. She was mildly disappointed when their first words were for him.

“You OK?”

“That looks like a nasty wound.”

“Need help?”

In turn, the blond – well, not so blond anymore, his roots were definitely proving his hair color was anything but natural – nodded and shook his head at Cordelia’s, Xander’s, and Oz’s statements. 

“I’m fine,” he grunted and let his hand fall away from his chest as if that would prove it, burying it instead in his jeans’ pocket. There was something about him, about the way he was looking down, avoiding everybody’s eyes, that simply didn’t go with the Spike she remembered.

“So, you’ve enrolled the enemy in the good fight?” she tried to quip, regretting the words as soon as they passed her lips.

Eyebrows rose and confused looks were exchanged. 

“Yeah, well, you made a truce with him first, didn’t you?” Xander asked, sounding uncomfortable.

“I did,” she admitted, pushing the memory of that night as far away as she could. “But it was a one time thing, and he was supposed to leave town for good. Weren’t you?”

She directed her last words at Spike, but he still wouldn’t say a word or look straight at her. He merely shrugged.

“Well, he wasn’t so well after the soul thing, and…”

“Wait! Wait a minute! What soul thing?”

Incredulous and slightly sickened, Buffy heard the tale of Willow trying to perform the gypsy spell again and succeeding, except she had cursed Spike rather than Angelus. She heard the Scoobies saying how Spike was patrolling with them. She heard, but her mind quickly wandered as she stared with an increasingly colder gaze at the vampire. 

The soul meant nothing. She couldn’t let it mean anything. She had done that mistake once, trusted a vampire, let him in, and painfully learned her lesson. She wasn’t going to do it again. And she couldn’t believe that her friends had been blinded by a word. By a soul.

“I was on my way to see Giles,” she announced, looking at her friends and deliberately ignoring Spike. “Wanna come with me and catch up on the way?”

* * * * *

The five humans walked away, without a glance toward him, and Spike watched until they had disappeared. The Slayer was in the middle, her friends around her as if nothing had happened, as if she hadn’t spent three months without sending them news. He suspected her mother had welcomed her warmly too, and that the Watcher would also. He envied her.

He didn’t try to delude himself into believing the humans were his friends. He knew that for them he was simply convenient, extra muscle and protection that walkie-talkies, code names, and all the stakes in the world couldn’t replace.

He had stumbled upon them a couple of nights after his first patrol and had helped them deal with a spot of trouble. They had thanked him, but kept their distance. No one had suggested that he joined their patrol, and he hadn’t. Not that night. But when two nights later he had crossed paths with them again, he had tagged along and they hadn’t protested. He wasn’t blind though, and he knew they were never completely relaxed when he was there. And it was good that they weren’t.

Thinking that he had time for his nightly cup of chocolate before the Slayer was done with her Watcher, he started to walk toward Revello. It probably would be the last one, he mused sadly. Seeing how Buffy had reacted to his presence, she probably wouldn’t appreciate too much knowing he regularly talked with her mother, even if he never actually stepped inside the house. And Joyce wouldn’t need to talk so much now that her daughter was back. 

He went as far as the driveway and then changed his mind. As he touched absently at the hole in his chest that had come so close to being the last wound he’d ever receive, he realized the fronts of his shirt and t-shirt were bloodied. And, although red on red or on black wasn’t so noticeable in a dark street, he had no doubt that Joyce would notice if he took his usual seat on her back porch. Knowing her, she would ask questions and offer to help him. He couldn’t afford to accept it. Couldn’t let her see.

He stopped by the liquors store on his way to the mansion. In exchange for his help, Giles provided him with a few dollars each week, enough to buy blood from the butcher, enough to get a cheap bottle of booze if he skipped a few meals every now and then. 

Back home, he paid his nightly respects to the stone in the middle of the main room. After that first night, it had become a ritual to stand in front of the statue for a few moments and remember Dru falling through, soon followed by Angelus. It was right here that his unlife had changed dramatically. He couldn’t forget it, but he had learned to live with it and managed to help the humans.

For that, he had to shove down the never-ending buzz of voices that echoed in his mind and force himself not to listen to them when they told him it was useless. That _he_ was useless. However, once a day, he would let himself hear the voices, let them remind him that he was nothing but a pathetic demon and a murderer. He very much deserved the mental punishment.

When he had endured as much as he could, he retreated to his room. It was as bare as it had been that first night, kept uncomfortable on purpose. He shed his bloodied shirt and t-shirt, and took a few swigs of alcohol before daring to look down at the mess that was his chest. Gingerly, he touched the edges of the stake wound, wincing at the pain, welcoming it.

One thing was sure, even after three months the Slayer still had good aim. Then his fingers slid to the other marks around the wound. The oldest cuts were barely noticeable, while the most recent were still an angry red on his pale skin, crisscrossing all over his heart.

* * * * *

_Not gonna talk about that. And I wish you wouldn’t either. Nobody’s business but mine. No, I’m not going to explain anything. If you can’t figure it out, it’s your problem. And you’d better stop insisting before I…_

_Anyway._

_The first hours of the Slayer’s return were all pink champagne glasses and cake, but after that, it became rather sour. See, Joyce had that mask thing that turned out to be full of not so pretty magic. Turned people into zombies and wasn’t that a barrel of fun. Plus, from what I hear, the show started even before all that. Apparently, the initial warm welcome quickly reached freezing point, and the Scoobies and Joyce got their word in about what they thought of the Slayer’s disappearing act. I wish I could have been there to see that._

_I didn’t, though, and only heard about it much later. I was patrolling by myself that night because I hadn’t been invited to the welcome back party. At least they had thought of telling me they wouldn’t be patrolling._

_Without warning, all these people started getting out of the ground. Very creepy, let me tell you. I’ll take a vamp or most demons any day over a zombie. It didn’t take long for me to notice they were all going the same way, so I tagged along. And when the streets became a little too familiar for comfort, I ran ahead toward the Summers’ home._

_I arrived there, got a few dead things out of my way, and was stopped by that damn invite barrier when I opened the door. I could see the gang and the Slayer fighting, but more importantly, I could see the Bit on the stairs, scared as hell by a zombie walking toward her. I shouted for her to invite me in, something both her mother and I had repeatedly told her not to do, and she had enough presence of mind to realize that this was a good time to break the rules._

_I got rid of the thing, and took her away from the stairs since that seemed to be the rallying point of everything that moved. We hid in the dining room, and she clung to me with all the strength of a frightened twelve years old. It was nice that the monks gave me someone who trusted me so much. Better than nice. I wonder who invited me in, in the no-Dawn world. Whom I came in to help._

_It turned not so nice when everything was over; we came out, and the Slayer saw that I was in her house and her kid sister’s hand wasn’t letting go of mine. Her smile disappeared rather quickly._

_“What the hell are you doing here?” she snapped at me, before turning her attention to Dawn. “Get away from him. Now.”_

_As discreetly as I could, I freed my hand from the kid’s; and when she looked at me, I silently pleaded for her to do as her sister had said. She wasn’t happy, but she did what I wanted, stepping into her mother’s embrace._

_I tried to explain why I was there, that I had tried to help and keep Dawn out of harm’s way, but of course, the Slayer wasn’t buying it. She rambled about my soul having changed nothing and that I was still a killer. Said that if I had really tried to help, I would have been outside where the action was, not hiding in the house. Accused me of playing an act with the Scoobies and now her family, all of it to get closer to them. Warned all of them about trusting me, and reminded them that a vamp with a soul was not safe in any way, or had they forgotten already?_

_In short, she was mixing me up with another souled vamp. Can we say issues?_

_I didn’t say a word and neither did anyone else. No one defended me. Not even my Bit, although she was upset. And I can’t say it was much of a surprise that they didn’t. Of course they all saw me as another Angel. What had I done to dispel that notion? I hardly ever talked to them, not trying to make conversation beyond the most basic exchange of information. I was there when they needed help, but never hung around to socialize. Never argued with any of them either, or joked, or anything. The only person I talked to was Joyce. One thing I didn’t do however was brood. You’ll never get me to admit to that._

_I didn’t argue that time either. I left, and probably proved to all of them that she was right and I was just a clone of the big poof._

_I didn’t realize that until I was halfway to the mansion. It made me madder than I had been in a long, long time. I wasn’t Angel. I had never wanted to be Angel. Even souled, I still couldn’t understand why he had left us, why he hadn’t allowed us to try and help him. Why he had never said a thing, and let Darla tell us what had happened to him. Even souled, I still hated him as much as I… right, then. That’s not the point._

_Point is, I got angry. Very, very angry. Spent the rest of the night expressing my rage by finding and killing as many demons as I could. Quite a change from my routine of dusting a vamp or two every night. And I felt a lot better from it. I had a soul, yes, but I still had a demon inside of me, too, and it was the first time since the curse that I allowed it to come out and play. I think that’s when I realized that there was more than one way to be a souled vamp, and that I didn’t have to take the self-flagellation, woe is me, let me brood in peace route._

_The Slayer thought I was like Angel? I was determined to prove her wrong. And I did show her, in more ways than one, that I was absolutely nothing like him. Except for the not so small detail of my feelings for her._


	7. First Impressions

As she sipped on her drink and observed the new Slayer in town make nice with her friends, Buffy tried very hard not to compare her to Kendra. Thinking of Kendra would only bring back painful memories, and she wished she could have a nice evening for once. Or as nice as possible.

Buffy also tried to smile. She really was trying. But it was getting harder and harder as Faith drew all the attention and made Buffy feel like a loser. No, she didn’t have stories about wrestling alligators naked to save a busload of monks from vampires, or whatever it was that Faith was explaining in graphic details. All she had was how the Master had killed her, and how a vampire had saved the world in her place by sending her lover to hell.

No. Not her lover. Not Angel. Angelus. Why was it so hard to remember that? Why was it so difficult, when she saw that scene play in her mind again, to think of the Angel as her enemy? Was it because she hadn’t been the one holding the sword? Would it have been easier if she had done it, if she had cut that last link herself? Now that she was back, it sometimes felt even more difficult, because she knew the soul curse had worked; knew they could have avoided all of that mess if they had only…

“Hot vamp at the bar. You taking him, B, or you want me to do him?”

There was something in the way Faith said these last words that Buffy didn’t like at all. It sounded too much like she had something very different from slaying in mind. After seeing the way she had flirted on the dance floor earlier with that vamp before going out to stake him and hearing her remarks about slaying making her horny, it was all too clear what the subtext was.

However, before she could voice her opinion, Willow jumped in.

“Oh, that’s Spike. You can’t dust Spike. I mean, you could I suppose, because he’s a vampire, but we don’t stake him. He kinda helps us. He has a soul. I gave him a soul.”

All of it was delivered in one long rush that left Willow slightly breathless but grinning proudly and Faith obviously curious. Saying more however would raise questions about the other souled vampire the gang had known, and Buffy wasn’t up to that quite yet.

“I’ll see what he’s doing here,” Buffy said quickly, more glad than she would have admitted at having an excuse to get away from Faith for a little while. It was nice to have help on the slaying front, but Faith was a bit… overwhelming.

As she approached the bar, Buffy watched Spike’s back tensing; no doubt, he knew she was there. He didn’t turn to look at her, nor did he spare a glance in her direction when she leaned against the bar next to him.

“What are you doing here, Spike?” she asked without preamble.

“Having a drink,” he replied with a sneer as he tapped his fingernails on the beer bottle in front of him. “Thought that was obvious.”

“And I thought it was obvious this is a place for humans,” she hissed, low enough that no one but him would hear her. “Why don’t you go to Willy’s or wherever your kind meets? And if you dust a few of them while you’re there, even better.”

She still wasn’t comfortable with the idea that he had patrolled all summer long with her friends and was glad that he hadn’t turned up to patrol with her since she had come back. It didn’t mean, however, that she would forbid him to stake a few of his kind.

“M not so welcome at Willy’s anymore,” he retorted dryly after emptying half his bottle. “Might have something to do with the fact that I’m doing a better job of ridding this town of demons than you are. Lost your touch while you were gone, Slayer. Such a pity.”

The taunting in his voice was clear, and her fingers itched to grab the stake tucked into her pants’ waistband and prove him that her ‘touch’ was perfectly fine, thanks for asking. Something else was clear. She had been completely right for warning the Scoobies that the soul didn’t make a difference. He had been pretending all summer; and now that she was back, he had given up on the game.

Of course, that meant Angel had been pretending all along too, and somehow that made things a little easier to bear. It was easier to imagine he had never really loved her than to believe she had had his love and then been the reason why he had changed so much.

“Hey B, you gonna introduce me?”

Swallowing the nasty come back she wanted to snarl, she half turned to Faith

“Introduce you? Sure. Faith, this is Spike. Also known as William the Bloody, the Slayer of Slayers. Be sure not to get too close to him and become his third one, OK?”

If Faith heard the warning, she showed no trace of taking it seriously. As Spike turned to look at her, her gaze traveled over him appreciatively. 

“Spike, is it?” she said with a too bright smile. “Mind telling me how you got that name?”

For a few seconds, Spike simply observed her, and Buffy felt very much like warning them both about curses and happiness loopholes. Eventually, he looked back at Buffy, completely ignoring Faith.

“Where are you patrolling tonight?” he asked pointblank.

The question took her by surprise, and she frowned.

“Why do you want to know? I don’t need a lapdog trailing…”

“I want to know so I’ll be sure not to cross path with you,” he interrupted abruptly. “I’d rather stake myself than patrol with you.”

“Oh, but that can be arranged very easily.”

She was seconds from doing it, and she was certain it had to show on her face. All he did, however, was shake his head.

“Promises, promises, luv. If you finally decide to do it, I’m at the mansion. I’m sure you remember where that is.”

Pushing his way between Faith and Buffy, he left; and only then did Buffy realize he was wearing his black duster. The gang had mentioned that he wasn’t wearing it anymore as one of the many signs of how he had changed. For her, it was just one more proof that he was the same Spike he had been before the soul.

* * * * * 

From the kitchen, Buffy was throwing nasty glances at their guest in the dining room, and Joyce suppressed a sigh. It might have been a good thing that her daughter had never had any sibling, because the rivalry would have aged their mom prematurely.

Joyce was quite happy that a new Slayer was in town. It meant that Buffy wouldn’t carry that burden alone, and would have more time for school and things girls her age did. Faith seemed to enjoy being the Slayer, so it was all for the good. Or rather, it would be if Buffy didn’t rip the girl to shreds for eating her fries. A distraction was needed.

“Oh, honey, have you seen Spike lately?”

The reaction was instantaneous. Buffy’s gaze left Faith and swung back on Joyce.

“Spike? Why do you ask?”

Joyce tried to be casual in her answer. She suspected that this might not have been the best diversion after all.

“Well, he used to come and keep me company while you were gone. But he hasn’t been back since the zombie night. So I was wondering if he was alright.”

Buffy blinked twice, as she looked incredulously at Joyce.

“You do realize he’s a vampire, right?” she said slowly.

“Of course I realize that. I never invited him in until the other night. But with the soul…”

“Mom, please, don’t make the same mistake I did.”

There was something behind the pleading that surprised Joyce. Could Buffy really believe… 

“Oh, it’s not like that at all!” she said with a soft smile and reached to take her daughter’s hand. “We’re just friends, nothing more. I needed to talk while you were… away, and so did he, and that’s all, really. Besides, he’s way too young for me anyway.”

Even as she let out the last words, she realized that it would sound to Buffy as if she had thought about the possibility, which she truthfully hadn’t. Buffy, however, didn’t pick up on it.

“That only proves that appearances are deceiving,” she said very seriously. “Mom, he’s decades older than you. Not younger.”

Joyce frowned, before finally nodding. “It’s strange, I know that, but I keep thinking of him as being no older than you. He’s so lost and he needs friends to help him believe he’s doing the right thing despite what happened before…”

She stopped herself before adding that he reminded her of Buffy. Her daughter however seemed to follow her train of thought, and looked confused.

“Well, if you see him, can you tell him he’s still welcome to come by and talk if he wants to?”

* * * * *

Patrol had been uneventful, and Spike headed home. The posturing with Buffy had exhausted him. Why was it so difficult to act out as if he was fine when she was around? Why did he feel like she could see straight through the act while the others didn’t? Was it because she had been the one pointing out how much like Angel he had been acting? Was it because the soul made no difference to her? He was still determined to prove to her – prove to all of them – that he was himself, not a carbon copy of the brooding wonder. But it was hard. Harder than he would have thought.

Something else that was hard was to let go of his daily self-mortification sessions in front of Acathla. Angel would have done that, so Spike wouldn’t do it anymore. In any case, it didn’t help in the slightest to repress the voices in his head continuously only to let them surface once a day. He was on his way to finding a balance, and Acathla was not a part of it. Maybe he ought to ask Giles to rid him of the thing. Or do it himself.

Despite his intentions, he couldn’t help looking at the stone as he walked in. He immediately froze.

At the foot of the statue, laying on the floor and shivering, was his grandsire. 

After staring at him for what felt like decades, Spike cautiously approached. Scurrying away and snarling was the only answer Spike received when calling out his grandsire’s name. Too many questions filling his mind, Spike sank down on the floor a few feet from the crouching vampire, seeing only himself, as he had been a few months back. Was the older vampire souled too? Was it why he was acting like this?

The question was answered the first time their gazes met. It was Angelus, not Angel.

* * * * *

_Of course, it’s easy to say in hindsight, but there was something about Faith that made me itch the first time I saw her. She felt different from the Slayer, like night and day. Although she is a slayer too, isn’t she? My theory is that she’d have made a better job of it if she had been the only Slayer, but who cares about the whys?_

_She arrived in Sunnydale and made an impression on all of us; a better impression on some than on others. For me, it was… well, I’m not sure. She made me uncomfortable. If I hadn’t had a soul, I would have killed her before Buffy, just so I wouldn’t have had to deal with her. Maybe I saw too much of myself in her. Too many masks, too much insecurity hiding behind bravado._

_The night after our first meet-up, I saw both of them fight. I didn’t jump in, because I didn’t feel like my intervention was needed or wanted, but the show was… interesting. With Buffy, it was all business. Stake to the heart as soon as possible. Faith however… She pummeled her vamp until he was probably unconscious, and even then it didn’t seem to be enough. I know Buffy didn’t like it._

_They… **we** should have guessed that it would lead to problems eventually. The not so fun little meeting with Trick and that other vamp who wanted Faith dead more than anything should have been enough of a warning. None of us saw it however, not until it was too late. But, you’ll get to that later, won’t you?_

_Right then. You can go on with the story._

_No. I don’t have anything to say about Angelus. Why would I?_

_Fuck. Can’t you let it drop?_

_I took him in, alright? Is that what you want to hear me say? I knew it was Angelus and not his souled twin from the instant I saw him, and I still took him in. Hell, he was so broken… Maybe killing him would have been a kindness at that point. Definitely would have made things a lot easier later on, for Buffy, for me, for us. Still, I didn’t stake him. Not sure why to this day. I like to believe it was the soul. After all, a few months before I had had no problem at the idea of helping the Slayer get rid of him. So, it had to be the soul deciding not to stake him. Easier to think it was._

_I guess part of me was hoping it would be a sane version of the Angelus I knew this time. Boy, was I ever wrong…Or maybe… Maybe even then, in these first instants when I saw him on the floor, I was already thinking that the little witch could restore his soul. Maybe I was hoping that having someone like me would make things easier. Maybe I had questions for him, or needed to finally yell at him for running off with his soul without telling Dru and me what had happened. Maybe. Who knows?_

_I cleaned him, aching at the cuts and bruises that covered him. I fed him pig’s blood, and even though he grimaced, he drank it all. He must have been famished. Then, I hesitated. Angelus, not Angel. Still not looking so strong on the side of sanity. Staring at me as if he wasn’t too sure I was really there, really helping him. I guess it’s understandable, seeing how the last time we had met, I had run him through with a sword and sent him to hell. In the end, I chained him. I had to get into his old bedroom to get the chains, and wasn’t that fun; but I didn’t see another solution. I couldn’t simply let him roam free, and I couldn’t even consider staking him._

_I chained him in the main room, where I would see him every fucking time I walked by. Where he could see me, follow me with his eyes, a bit stronger each day, snarling and growling at first, biting words later on. I should have put him somewhere else, maybe. I should have staked him, probably. I should have… hell, I don’t know. I didn’t, and that’s it, no reason to dwell on it._


	8. Beasts

The full moon was high in the sky, and Buffy felt like it was mocking her. Someone was dead, and a wolfed Oz was the main suspect. Her friends were investigating the body, Faith was on wolf duty at the library, and Buffy was out looking for other potential murderers. She sincerely hoped that, one way or another, they would be able to prove that Oz wasn’t to blame. She didn’t want to face that kind of dilemma again. And she didn’t want Willow to ever go through anything like what Buffy had lived through with Angel.

She hadn’t mentioned the possibility to the others, but she had another suspect in mind. Spike seemed to have wicked mood shifts these days, for the little that she saw of him. Giles had mentioned that for a while after getting his soul back he had been pretty much crazy. She had a nagging suspicion that he might not be completely sane even now. And if he wasn’t, it was possible that he had slaughtered the teenager. That he was a beast.

She had gone through the woods already and found nothing. She had tried the Bronze and a couple of cemeteries where she had crossed path with Spike in the past week, but she had not found him. Now, she was on her way to the mansion. She hated the idea of returning there, but she didn’t see any other way. She needed to talk to Spike and ask him a few questions, just to be sure.

As she was about to push the door open, a shout behind her stopped her.

“Slayer! What a pleasant surprise.”

When she turned to him, the annoyed look in Spike’s eyes denied that the surprise was anything but pleasant. And just below his left eye…

“Got yourself into trouble?” she asked, gesturing to the large bruise that marred is cheek.

He shrugged. “Nothing I couldn’t handle. Did you want something?”

Her suspicions increased tenfold. Since her return, he had been rude to her, ignored her, taunted her, refused to talk to her, but he had never asked if she wanted anything from him or offered his help.

“There seems to be a beast in the woods,” she said, observing closely his reaction. “It killed someone last night. Mauled would be more exact. Have you seen anything?”

His face remained completely blank.

“Can’t say that I have, but I’ll be sure to let you know if I do. Is that all?”

Was his impatience at having her gone suspicious? Or was it no stronger than usual?

“My mother says hi,” she said calmly.

Her mother had been more than annoyed when Buffy had refused to extend her invitation to Spike, but he didn’t need to know that. Especially when his face softened ever so slightly for a second, before returning to his usual emotionless mask.

“Right. You’ll give her my regards.”

“We disinvited you from the house,” she added, trying to get another reaction from him. All she got was a nod.

“Good thing. Was actually going to suggest it.”

Her eyes widened at his admission. Could he actually be aware that he wasn’t completely safe? Was this what he was saying?

“Why?” she questioned his statement, and again he shrugged.

“I’m a vamp, shouldn’t have anything to do with the Slayer’s home. I don’t want you running to stake me if you lose your favorite pair of knickers and decide I’ve stolen them.”

The hint of a smirk on his face annoyed her. He was making fun of her. Damn vamp. Scowling at him, she walked past him without a parting word. The bruise was suspect, as was his answer to the disinvite spell, but that didn’t make him guilty. She pondered her options for a moment before deciding to keep an eye on the mansion to see if he would leave again. It was going to be a long night.

*****

Spike waited until Buffy had disappeared down the driveway before he walked inside the mansion. He had been lucky to catch her before she entered. It might have been a little difficult to explain to her the how and why of the vampire chained to the wall. Especially since after more than a week, Spike still didn’t have the beginning of an answer to either question.

Ignoring the growls and attempted leaps at him, Spike took a container of pig’s blood out of the brown bag he was carrying. Angelus’ violent movements only increased, but Spike was confident that the chains would hold. He had thoroughly checked the strength of the securing hooks.

“If you don’t calm down,” he said evenly, “you’re not getting any food. Your choice.”

As if to prove his point, he took a couple of mouthfuls and tried not to grimace at the unpleasant taste. It was bad enough to drink animal blood, but to drink it cold was particularly revolting. He truly needed to find a way to heat it. In the meantime, he had no other choice and neither did Angelus. He was calmer now, still growling but not as agitated anymore. Spike wasn’t taking any chance though. He had gotten too close the day before, and still had the bruises to show for it.

“Move back,” he instructed.

He hadn’t been sure in the first few days if the other vampire understood what he was saying, but experimenting had proved that he did. Spike was sure that it was only a matter of time before his guest started talking again. It promised to be a lot of fun.

Angelus retreated toward the wall, and Spike nodded as he placed the container on the floor. As soon as it was down, Angelus jumped forward; but Spike had anticipated the move and had already stepped back. From what he could tell, his grand-sire was currently ruled by the baser instincts of the demon. But the fact that he understood when Spike talked to him meant that he hadn’t completely lost his mind. 

Taking a second container from the bag, Spike went to sit with his back to the wall facing Angelus. He hadn’t even started feeding before the chained vampire had already finished. Judging by the way that he flung the empty container across the room, it hadn’t been enough to satisfy his hunger. There was more in Spike’s bag, but they would need it for the next night. On the other hand, a hungry Angelus probably wouldn’t let Spike get any rest at all.

With a sigh, he threw the still closed container to his grand-sire, who easily caught it and emptied it as quickly as he had the first one. He then cast a scowling look at Spike, before curling up on the floor. He wrapped himself in his blanket, and before long, he was asleep.

Long into the night, Spike remained there, watching the broken vampire moan and shiver. What nightmares haunted Angelus’ nights? Would they still affect Angel once they restored his soul? What did Spike even hope would come out of this? Would it be worth it?

He finally retreated to his room a little before sunrise. Despite being unable to find sleep, he didn’t hear the Slayer enter the mansion at dawn. But when he came out of his room to check on Angelus in the middle of the afternoon, her scent still lingered in the main room.

*****

Her peer-turned-beast struck back, punching her hard in the face, and Buffy had the fleeting thought that this day was getting worse and worse. Hard to believe it was even possible after the calamitous events she had lived through in the past eighteen hours or so.

It had started out with a long night without sleep. She had been so sure Spike would leave again that by morning she had decided to reassure herself he hadn’t slipped out through another exit. As silently as she could, she had walked into the mansion. She had found a vampire there, but it wasn’t the one she had been expecting.

For a few too fast heartbeats, she had stared at the man curled on the floor by the fireplace, chains pooling around him. Torn between going to him and touching him to be assured of his presence or running away, she had finally done the latter. He had stirred in his sleep, startling her, and she had fled, unable to confront whatever was going on there. Afraid to know whether it was Angel or Angelus.

She had run all the way back to her home, slipped into her bed, and muffled her sobs against her pillow. Just when she had thought she was getting better, opening herself to the counselor at school, beginning to build something with Scott, the simple glimpse of a man she had once loved brought everything crashing down around her again.

School time had come fast, and she had gone despite the exhaustion of a too long night and her nerves-wrecking discovery. Trying not to appear suspicious, she had looked for a book about Acathla and demon dimensions, struggling to find an excuse when Giles had asked what she was doing. She had lied to him, and wasn’t proud of it, but she needed answers before she was ready to share with anyone that Spike had a guest.

She had been distracted during lunchtime and thought she might have been rude to Scott. She had not meant to, but everything was so difficult… even more so when she went to talk to the school counselor again. Discovering him dead at least had cleared Oz, Spike, and Angel from the murder, since it had happened during the day.

After that, she had been too numb to do much more than follow the flow. Questioning Debbie, finding Pete, rushing to Oz’s help and securing the werewolf had been mindless duties when all she could think of was the vampire lying on the mansion’s floor. Even now, as she fought with Pete, or rather his Mr. Hyde side, her mind still wasn’t in it, which might be why she had so much trouble stopping him. Why, also, she didn’t notice the vampire approaching until he was right there.

“Slayer, we need to talk,” Spike said, completely ignoring the fact that she was fighting for her life.

“I’m a bit busy,” she pointed out between ducking Pete’s fist and replying with a blow of her own.

“It’s important,” Spike insisted.

This time, she was going to dust him. He needed to be dusted for sheer stupidity. No more delaying. Or at least, no more delaying after she managed to subdue her attacker and that would be easier to do once she pried his hands off her neck.

“That wanker’s human,” Spike commented thoughtfully a few steps behind Pete. “You gonna stake me if I lay a finger on him?”

“Just don’t kill him and I won’t kill you,” she replied breathlessly as she finally freed herself and pushed Pete away from her – directly toward Spike.

She didn’t know what she had expected the vampire to do, but it certainly wasn’t wrapping an arm around Pete’s neck and squeezing until he stopped thrashing and passed out from lack of oxygen. The most surprising thing came when Spike carefully eased the unconscious boy to the ground and gingerly checked his pulse point, all the while muttering something that sounded like ‘not dead, not dead, didn’t kill, no more killing’.

*****

_It felt strange to hurt a human again when the memories of so many humans I had killed haunted me constantly. The soul almost wouldn’t let me do it. But I fought it off, pointing out to myself that the Slayer was there and she was OK with it; so there really was no reason not to help her out as long as there was no lasting harm. Yeah, I was at the point where I was having conversations with myself. Not sure that’s considered a sane thing to do, but it helped. Somewhat._

_At that moment, his humanity only mattered as far as my reluctance or inability to hurt him. But when her gang caught up with us and started talking about it all, it dawned on me. The kid was human; there was no demon inside him. Only what he had done to himself. He was human, he had a soul, and he still had killed two people savagely. It was simply proof that having a soul wasn’t a guarantee of goodness. At the time, it didn’t mean much, but the revelation came in handy later on._

_As long as the Scoobies were around, the Slayer didn’t say a word to me nor did I speak to her. But the dark looks she was giving me were not exactly reassuring. She knew about Angelus and wasn’t happy about it. I had no clue why she hadn’t dusted him or me, but I intended to beg my way out of both stakings. When she finally announced to her gang that she was going to do a final sweep with me, I wondered what she had in mind. Especially when Faith said she’d tag along, and Buffy talked her out of it. It became clearer when she directed our steps toward the mansion._

_“You wanted to talk to me about something important,” she said, emotionless._

_That was why I had hunted her down as soon as the sun had set, but my carefully planned explanation had disappeared in the middle of too much agitation. I didn’t know where to start. She finally did._

_“How did Angel come back?”_

_Her voice was full of hope. Mine was bleak._

_“It’s not Angel.”_

_Instantly, she stopped walking, and I’ll always remember the pain and shock on her face. Her eyes remained closed for a few seconds while she took a few deep breaths, and then she asked:_

_“Why didn’t you stake him yet?”_

_Why. It’s still a question even today. I never found the answer. I don’t think I ever will, beyond blaming it on the soul._

_I pleaded with her, spoke of souls and curses, suggested having Red do her witchy spell on him. I carefully avoided saying anything about needing someone who knew what I was going through. She didn’t react to any of it. Not right then. Just started walking once more and we returned to the mansion together to face the vampire that held such an important role in both our pasts._

_He struggled against the chains when we came in, trying to lunge at us. She wasn’t afraid, that much was clear. She should have been. For the first time, he spoke, hissing the word ‘Slayer’ when she tried to get closer. I pulled her back, warned her again that it wasn’t her Angel._

_Then she surprised me. Said she wasn’t sure a soul would do anything for him, that he was too far gone. Asked me not to tell anyone else about him, to give her time to think. She didn’t say what she needed time to think about, but I thought I understood._

_She wanted to get back to the emotional state where she would be able to stake him herself. She has admitted to me since then that I was right, and that she wanted closure by killing him herself rather than asking someone from her gang or me to do it. At the time she wasn’t ready, and I’m not sure whether that’s a good or bad thing._

_I followed her wishes and didn’t tell her gang. But I did ask Willow if she might be able to modify the curse and get rid of the loophole, making it sound like I wanted her to re-curse me. She seemed excited by the idea. Of course, anything that had to do with magic excited her. Too much. But it would be a long time before we knew we should have been worried about it._


	9. Staking Angelus

As she made her way through her second graveyard of the night, Buffy was feeling terrible. Everything in her life seemed to be going horribly wrong, these days. And that little war between her and Cordelia over who was to be Homecoming queen was really the least of it all. It didn’t matter that it was splitting the gang; the competition would be over in two days, Cordelia would receive a good lesson in humility, and the Scoobies would get back to normal.

That really wasn’t what was worrying her. Although she wished it was. Life would have been infinitely simpler if the biggest thing she had had to worry about was a stupid popularity contest. Instead, she had to worry that her greatest foe was back and currently chained to a wall. Soon, she was going to stake him.

Wasn’t she?

Ever since she had stumbled upon Spike’s prisoner almost two weeks before, she thought of it day and night, repeating the words, trying to believe them.

_I am going to stake Angelus._

Then, all too often, the last word eventually turned into ‘Angel’, and the thought was suddenly unbearable. Even after all this time spent trying to reconcile in her mind that they were two faces of the same coin, even after seeing Spike and how much his soul had _not_ changed him, she still had trouble thinking of Angel and Angelus as the same person. Still had trouble accepting that her lover was gone for good. That it wasn’t he who was currently chained in the mansion.

“Good thing I’m not here to kill you or you’d be dead already.”

The partly mocking words stopped her dead in her tracks and she spun, already punching Spike behind her before she had seen him. He didn’t move. Didn’t parry, didn’t jump back, didn’t even seem surprised. He merely wiped at the blood trickling from his nose with the back of his hand once she took a step back.

“What do you want?” she shot at him, annoyed that he had so blatantly managed to surprise her.

“My, aren’t we chipper,” he commented dryly. “Something bothering you, Slayer? Didn’t get your good night kiss from your boy?”

Her eyes narrowed. She wasn’t happy that Spike had been around enough to notice that she had – no, had had – a boyfriend, and it sounded way too much like he was taunting her about having lost that relationship.

“The only thing bothering me,” she snapped back, “is why I didn’t stake a certain vampire yet. And yes, that would be you, Spikey.”

He didn’t have the decency to look even slightly worried.

“Because I’m useful, that’s why. I heard…”

“Useful?” she interrupted with a dry chuckle. “You’re useful? You’re a pain in the ass. Useful is the last thing I’d call you.”

“If you would just listen for a minute,” he said with irritation, “I’m sure you’d change your mind.”

Turning her back on him, she strode away. “But I don’t want to listen,” she called over her shoulder. “Last time I did, you convinced me not to put down a rabid dog. What would you do this time? Tell me that Faith is evil?”

She walked away, glad he didn’t come after her. She had been lying, to him and to herself, when she affirmed that he had convinced her not to stake Angelus. Even if he had wanted her to do it, she knew she wouldn’t have been able to. Still, she was wondering why he didn’t want the soulless vamp staked. What could he want from him? One more thing to worry about. She worried too much. She felt like she hadn’t laughed or really smiled in forever.

Apparently, Scott had felt the same way, because that was part of the reason he had given her when he had broken up with her a few days before. Strangely enough, she couldn’t make herself care that much about it. It seemed insignificant when compared to the rest of her problems.

Compared to Angelus, few things were significant.

*****

Spike was seething as he watched Buffy walk away and refuse to listen to him. He had gone out of his way to find information after overhearing a hint of new Hellmouth player in a demon bar, and now it was for naught, since she didn’t even want to listen to what he had discovered. Silly bint. He would show her how much of a pain he could be, that would teach her.

He spent the rest of his night gathering more information, following trails and tips toward his mysterious vampire. By morning, he wasn’t any further along than when he had talked to Buffy. He was of half a mind to give up and simply watch it all play out; but after a long day stuck inside the mansion with his irritating guest, he decided he needed the action. At least, it gave him a purpose clearer than wandering alone in graveyards looking for random vampires to stake.

It took him all night, but he finally found what he was looking for in the person of a vampire called Trick. The guy was apparently becoming the closest thing to a Master that Sunnydale had.

“I’ve heard you’re having a little party with the Slayers,” he said as soon as he was introduced to the other vamp. “Is it too late for a fellow to join the fun?”

Frowning, Trick signaled his minions to step back. Spike didn’t relax in the slightest.

“And I have heard that a blond vampire is already having fun, staking minions and barely risen fledglings. Would that be you, by any chance?

Spike had thought his growing reputation would precede him, so he was ready for the question. He pushed a hard smile to his lips and inclined his head slightly in acquiescence.

“Survival of the fittest and all that rot,” he commented with a shrug. “Less cannon fodder for the Slayers to train on increases the odds for the most skilled of us to take them down. The name’s Spike, by the way.”

A raised eyebrow was the first indication that Trick had heard the name before. Good.

“I see,” Trick said with a half smile. “So you don’t need me to tell you Slayers are not exactly easy to kill. I guess I could make an exception and let you in as a late player.”

Spike couldn’t help the smile that bloomed on his lips. He was in. Then, after going through the rules, Trick announced the amount of the entry fee, and Spike’s smile disappeared instantly. He hadn’t thought about that. Fuck.

After Trick showed him the door, sunrise was too close for Spike to do much more than return home and the hell his life had become. Because living with Angelus was exactly that now that he had begun talking again. And just like Spike knew he didn’t have a soul, Angelus had guessed about Spike’s and was constantly reminding him about kills they had done together, the bloodiest and most violent of them.

It was getting harder and harder for Spike to justify his not staking his grand-sire. Still he couldn’t do it, pinning his hopes that Willow would come through with something. He desperately wanted to talk to Angel, wanted to hear him say that it got better with time. Wanted the words that he would never receive.

He ignored the soulless vampire the best he could; and after his nightly inspection of how well the chains were holding against Angelus’ constant pulling, he retreated to his room. Even if he was angry about the way she had treated him, Spike couldn’t let Buffy and the other Slayer get hurt if he could do something about it. Helping them wouldn’t make up for the Slayers he had killed, but that wasn’t why he was doing it anyway. Somehow, these deaths weren’t the heaviest ones on his conscience. Both girls had known what they were doing when he had taken them on; both of them had been good fighters. And the soul couldn’t completely silence the demon when it pointed out that Slayers and vampires had fought for millennia, it was the order of things. 

Thinking along these lines however was too close to accepting that feeding and killing was a natural process for vampires, and that it had little to do with good and evil. Spike couldn’t let himself follow that path. Thankfully, he had Angelus close to remind him that more often than not, vampire did equal evil; and since Angelus had trained him well, he had to be evil too. No relief to be found in thinking he had only done what he was supposed to.

If he had known where she lived, he would have gone to Faith and tried to convince her something bad was brewing. He didn’t though, so that wasn’t an option. The only other person he could go to was the Watcher. The idea wasn’t appealing, but he went to Giles’ flat right after sunset. As he arrived, the Watcher stepped out the front door, dressed in a tuxedo that Spike barely noticed as he tried very hard not to look as if he was hiding anything. He doubted that Giles would be as indecisive as Buffy about what to do with Angelus.

His warning given, Spike hesitated but finally declined to go with Giles, afraid that his anger at Buffy might get the better of him. Not that he would have hurt her, but getting into a shouting match where her mates could hear might not be the best thing to do when they shared such a heavy secret.

*****

_To say that the Slayer pissed me off doesn’t even begin to describe how I felt when she ignored me. Here I was, trying to give her important information that could have meant life or death for her and the other girl, and she dismissed the tip because it came from me. She had been childish about my help; and it was even more annoying because she was being immature about Angelus too._

_Later that night, she came to the mansion. Afterward, she told me she had come to apologize for not listening to me. I was out having a spot of dusting fun when she arrived, and I don’t know how long she waited there. She still was in the main room when I came back. Crying. Not big sobs or weeping, no, nothing like that. Just silent tears rolling down her cheeks as she watched Angelus, who was watching her in return. He didn’t say a word to her while I was there, but that nasty grin on his face made it all too clear that he had been taunting her as he had been doing with me. I don’t know what he told her; she refused to tell me and I knew better than to ask him._

_I could have understood if she had staked him, if she had been trading insults with him, or even physically lashed out at him. He certainly wasn’t fit enough then to escape a beating from her. But she didn’t do any such thing, just sat on the cold floor and cried. It made me even angrier with her. I grabbed her arm none too gently and pulled her to her feet and out of the mansion, Angelus’ laugh echoing after us._

_I wanted to yell at her and tell her exactly what I thought of her behavior, tell her that a Slayer couldn’t be weak like that or she’d be dead, tell her she couldn’t ignore help that was offered to her and then deliberately put herself in a situation where she was getting hurt, mentally or physically. I didn’t say a word. Couldn’t._

_As soon as I banged the door close behind us, her teary eyes turned to me, pleading. That completely threw me out. She asked me to kill him. Asked me to do it for her before it destroyed her. Said she had tried to do it herself but couldn’t, that she still saw Angel when she saw him, and that Angelus played on that._

_I refused to stake him; instead I tried to cheer her up by saying, I had asked Willow to work on a loophole-free curse so she might have her Angel back soon. If anything, she cried harder, and I felt even more lost. I understood why she wanted him gone for good, but not why the idea of getting her love back was so painful. She has never been able to explain that to me, and it’s not something she’s particularly fond of talking about anyway._

_That bloody soul of mine of course was all too glad to take the blame for her tears. I was the one who hadn’t staked Angelus, so it was my fault if the Slayer was crying. My fault if she was emotionally weakened, and therefore potentially vulnerable. More guilt to add to the count, and the promise of even more if she got herself killed because of all that. So, I tried to comfort her, awkwardly patting her back, until she gave me a half incredulous, half questioning glance through her tears. She didn’t protest when I said I would walk her home._

_I can’t say she was exactly pleased when I found her the next night and patrolled with her, but I can be stubborn when I want. In the end, she gave up. It helped I suppose that Faith was there and sided with me, saying that more help was always good. It wasn’t help with slaying that Faith wanted, but rather help with more… personal matters._

_I was aware of it, but I could have cared less. The girl could take care of herself, while Buffy on the other hand was on the edge of collapsing, and no one but me was seeing it. No one but me knew how much of a reason she had._

_For a few nights, I made sure she was safe, like I had made sure her mates were safe during the summer. Then she met William, and that changed the cards drastically._


	10. William

Buffy knew she should have felt guilty; yet, she couldn’t summon the feeling. She had lied to her mom, telling her she was going to study with Giles for her SATs. She had lied to Giles, telling him she was having a quiet evening at home to bond with her mom. The truth was, she needed some time away from both of them, away from thinking about exams and colleges. What were the odds she would even live long enough to go to college? A lot was bound to happen, before that. A lot was already happening right now.

Ironically, as she tried to escape for a few hours from her many responsibilities, she ended up in the very same place where she fought most of her battles, one of Sunnydale’s many cemeteries. At least, she could be alone there – or so she thought, until a familiar bleached blond approached the large headstone where she was sitting. A few nights before, she might have greeted him with a few well-chosen insults, but not anymore.

She grudgingly had to admit that Spike had proved himself more than useful ever since she had flung it in his face that he was anything but. She had a feeling that he was enjoying just a little too much his proving her wrong. Every night, he managed to find her, whether she was alone or with Faith or Giles, and tagged along.

He had never actually said so, but it was clear he was guarding her back. For what reason though, she couldn’t fathom. In any case, now she could understand how he had won over her friends during the summer; his help on patrol was flawless. However, things might have been simpler for them if there hadn’t been their unspoken secret. She hadn’t returned to the mansion since the night she had broken down in front of Angelus.

Spike came to stand a few feet in front of her, head tilted to the side as he observed her.

“Is that a new slaying technique?” he commented with more than a hint of teasing. “Sit there prettily and serve as bait?”

She rolled her eyes at him.

“I was just trying to have some quiet time and think. Of course, I should have known you’d show up. Don’t you have anything better to do?”

There was more hostility in her words than she had wanted, but he didn’t seem affected by it. That was pretty much standard for their exchanges.

“Anything you want to get off your chest? ‘M a good listener. Ask your mum.”

Another thing that was usual. More than once, he had hinted that he would have liked to visit her mother again. He had never asked flat out for Buffy’s permission, though. She didn’t really understand why he simply didn’t go behind her back.

“You’d be upset with both her and me,” he replied with a shrug when she voiced the question. “I figure you two have enough on your plate without me adding to it.”

“And how do you figure that?” Buffy couldn’t help but ask.

“You’re here, ain’t you? Said you wanted some quiet time and instead of staying safe and warm at home, you come to a gloomy graveyard. Tells me something about how things are between you and her.”

Buffy’s gaze dropped to the ground and her hands became tight fists on her knees. She hated it when he could see through her. Hated that a vamp she wasn’t even friend with – because they weren’t friends, were they? – could read her like an open book while her mom, Giles, and even Willow had no clue that not everything was perfect in her already strange life.

“You need a bit of fun, that’s what you need,” Spike said suddenly. “Wanna fight?”

She looked back up at him, incredulous.

“Fight?” she repeated. “That’s your idea of fun? My whole life is a fight!”

“’S different when you do it because you have to or because you want to unwind,” he insisted, grinning widely as he settled into a fighting stance. “Different when you know your life isn’t at stake. Come on, Slayer, it won’t hurt a bit.”

The words struck her, an echo of their first fight. She let herself slide off the tombstone and took her jacket off, folding it neatly over the marble. She made stretching movements as she paced in front of him, never taking her attention off him, wondering…

“Shouldn’t you be different?” she asked as she finally stepped into position, arms raised and ready to defend.

“Different? Different from what?”

Before the words were even out of his mouth, he literally leapt forward, straight at her, looking like he was going to strike her face. Buffy moved to her right as she parried; but at the last instant he had shifted his course to her left and breezed by her without even trying to land a blow.

“Different because of your soul,” she said reluctantly. However hard she had tried to convince herself that a vampire with a soul was no different from his unsouled counterparts, she still couldn’t embrace the idea. And whereas Spike should have proved her theory, she couldn’t understand what was going on with him.

“But I am ‘different’,” he said darkly, almost spitting out the word. “If I wasn’t, I’d be trying to kill you now rather than playing.”

Again, he was the one to attack, this time with a flurry of punches and kicks that Buffy countered with increasing difficulty. If that was playing, she was glad he wasn’t out to kill her and that brought the sobering realization that she was very far from her top form. Too many worries and too little sleep were taking their toll.

“I’d be taking advantage of your weaknesses instead of following you around like a lapdog, making sure no one else did.”

The words were bitter, and Buffy jumped back, momentarily out of his reach. So, that was why he had been patrolling with her. Unwilling to let the talk turn back to her weaknesses, Buffy took another verbal shot at him.

“But you’re like… the same. Sure you’re not killing and helping us instead, but you’re not brooding or… I don’t know, shouldn’t you be all tortured and stuff?”

She forced herself to stop there, but the unvoiced words seemed to hang between them.

Shouldn’t he have been tortured by his soul as Angel had been?

For long seconds, he stared at her, hard. Then, without warning, he turned on his heels and walked away, duster billowing behind him. His words seemed to echo in the graveyard, and sent a chill down Buffy’s spine.

“Who said I wasn’t?”

*****

As he stormed away from Buffy, Spike instinctively directed his steps toward Revello Drive. If he waited for the Slayer to agree, he’d be waiting to see Joyce forever. And if it pissed Buffy off… well, even better. Right then, that seemed like a perfectly fine idea. She didn’t show the slightest regard for what he may feel, so why should he care what she thought?

When he knocked on the back door, Joyce was immediately there and to his surprise, she invited him to come in. He did so cautiously, wondering why she had offhandedly given him an invite, and was startled when he noticed that the lady of the house wasn’t alone. He expected the Watcher to protest at his presence, but Giles merely nodded and continued to munch on a chocolate bar.

“I just came ‘round to say hi,” Spike said quickly, his gaze going from one human to the other and back. “Didn’t expect you to have company.”

Joyce waved her hand dismissively as she swallowed a piece of chocolate.

“No problem at all. You can come by any time you want. Although I suppose coming during the day might be a little difficult.”

She chuckled at that, and Giles grinned. Something seemed a little peculiar, and Spike sniffed the air, wondering if the two might have consumed a little too much alcohol. All he could smell however was the almost overwhelming smell of chocolate.

“Yeah, well, Buffy doesn’t seem too happy about the idea of me being here,” he said distractedly, still trying to comprehend what was happening.

The name brought stern looks to both previously smiling faces.

“What Buffy says isn’t always the truth,” the Watcher said with a shake of his head.

“But we might have been a little hard on her,” Joyce said pensively.

The two of them began talking about the Slayer, and Spike felt oddly out of place. 

“Listen, I’ll be on my way,” he said at the first occasion. “Didn’t want to bother you. Night Joyce, Watcher.”

“But we didn’t even have hot chocolate yet!” Joyce exclaimed, sounding disappointed, and Spike felt a pang of warmth hit him at the tone of her voice. Could it be that she had missed his company? He certainly had missed hers.

She smiled and handed a few chocolate bars to him. “Here, take these. It’s not hot chocolate, but it’s really good!”

He took the bars and pocketed them without a second glance. He wished she had asked him to stay. He wasn’t going to impose his presence though, especially with Giles there. He still felt awkward around the Watcher, still remembered all too well the torture he had witnessed the man endure.

After leaving the Summers’ residence, Spike stayed out until sunrise was close. Increasingly, he hated spending time at the mansion. Angelus was regaining more strength every day, and earlier Spike had had to knock him out in order to double the chains and secure them more solidly to the wall. He could easily imagine what kind of mood his grand-sire would be in now that he had probably awoken. Spike would need to find Willow the next night, ask her if she was making any progress with the spell. And if she wasn’t… Well, it was certainly better to give Angelus a soul, even with the possibility that he might lose it again, than to take the risk of him escaping and wreaking havoc on Sunnydale.

*****

Buffy’s day and evening had been a nightmare. A very disturbing, very freaky nightmare. It was just wrong for adults to behave like kids, and it was even more wrong for their children to witness it. She was certain she would need therapy about seeing her mom and Giles make out like two horny teenagers. At least she had found them before they had done anything more… embarrassing than kiss. Moreover, she now had enough blackmail material against Giles to last her a lifetime. It was still hard to believe that her serious Watcher had been so wild in his youth.

She parked the car and got out, trying very hard to ignore the dent and not think about her mother’s reaction to it once the effects of the candy had passed. For now, Joyce was pouting, having finally given up on protesting that it was too early to go home. They walked to the front door together and came upon the last person Buffy wanted to see right then. She had a test in the morning and no time left for a half insane vampire. She was about to tell him in no uncertain terms, when he smiled at her and her mother, seemingly relieved.

“Good evening, Mrs. Summers, Miss Summers. I trust you ladies are well? The streets have been rowdy tonight.”

Her mother giggled, and Buffy blinked in confusion before understanding. Where had Spike found some of that damn chocolate?

“I’m fine, honey. I’d be even better if Buffy wasn’t such a spoilsport though.”

With that, Joyce winked at Spike and sashayed into the house. Buffy watched her go, incredulous, before looking up in desperation. Why did things like this always happen to her? Spike looked just as mystified by Joyce’s behavior, as proved by the small frown on his brow.

“Why are you here, Spike?” Buffy asked with a deep sigh.

“I beg your pardon, Miss Summers, but it’s… It’s William, Miss, if you would be so kind. Although it isn’t very appropriate for you to call me by my Christian name. And I came here thinking… I mean…”

Despite herself, Buffy couldn’t help smiling at the obviously prim ‘William’ in front of her. So, that was what the vamp had been like in his youth, huh? She would never have imagined it. She had actually never given it much thought, but she would have been ready to bet he had been a bad boy since the cradle.

“Go ahead,” she encouraged him. “I don’t bite.”

Had he had any circulation, Buffy was sure he would have been crimson. As it was, she wasn’t certain there wasn’t a little more color in his cheeks than usual.

“Well, I realize now that it might have been unnecessary for me to worry,” he babbled, looking anywhere but at her, “but as I said, the town is particularly unruly tonight, and I thought you might have needed the protection of a gentleman. Not that I can hardly call myself such a thing anymore…”

The chuckle that had been rising in her throat died at the incredibly deep pain apparent in both William’s voice and features. Spike was a certainly good actor, if he had managed to hide this kind of feelings. Also, the idea of William wanting to protect her seemed peculiar, to say the least. Then she remembered Spike’s words in the graveyard the night before and realized his offer of protection was what he had been doing for the past few nights already.

“It was very kind of you,” she acknowledged with a smile, wondering if Spike would remember any of this. “I truly appreciate the thought. But as you can see, mom and I are fine, and…”

Just then, two cars speeded down the street, music blaring through the open windows but not loud enough to cover the boisterous laughs of the cars’ riders. William frowned at the passing cars before turning his gaze to Buffy.

“May I offer to remain here for a few hours?” he suggested. “I would feel better knowing that your sleep and your mother’s are protected.”

She was about to protest, but he looked determined, and Buffy had the sudden thought that if she didn’t agree he might very well spend the night on their front porch. She would probably regret it as soon as Spike was back to himself, but with a sigh, she nodded. It wasn’t as if this version of Spike was any danger to her or her mom, after all.

“Come in, William.”

She led him to the living room, and rapidly explained to him about the cursed chocolate bars. He seemed appalled at the idea that he was under the influence of magic, and even more so when Buffy told him about the babies-eating demon. All the while, she was imagining how Spike would have reacted, what he would have said. One of his sarcastic comments, maybe?

“It is truly dreadful that a young lady like yourself has to fight such awful creatures,” he offered with a sad shake of his head.

For a second, Buffy was stunned, and again couldn’t help but wonder if Spike would ever have uttered these words.

“I need to get some sleep,” she said apologetically. “Maybe you could stay until just before sunrise? I am sure we will be safe after that.”

He nodded his approval as he looked around him, obviously looking for something.

“Need anything?” she offered.

For the first time, he seemed a little hesitant as he replied.

“If it is not too much trouble, maybe… something to write?”

“To write?” Buffy repeated, puzzled.

“Yes, I write… That is, I _try_ to write poems. I am not very talented, I fear, but…”

Shaking her head in wonder, Buffy pulled a notepad and a pen from the nearby desk and handed them to him.

“What do you write about?”

Again, he seemed embarrassed. “I… if it would not be too presumptuous, I would like to… to write about you?”

There was a clear question in his last words, and Buffy smiled at him gently. “I would be flattered.”

Because William was just too cute, overprotective one second and almost bashful when talking of his writing, and because she was sure it was the last time she would ever speak to him, Buffy followed a strange impulse and leaned over to brush her lips across his cheek. William looked at her in amazement, blinking furiously.

“Good night, William,” she said softly before retreating to her room.

“Good night, Miss Summers,” was his choked reply.

*****

_Here again, this isn’t quite how I remember it. What I recall is that I went to the Summers house that evening but didn’t wait by the door. Instead, I came in at the insistence of a frightened Dawn who had been alone since coming back from school and didn’t know where her mum and sister were._

_My poncy self tried to reassure her as well as he could. We made a mess trying to cook her some dinner, I helped her with her homework, promised that everything would be fine when I didn’t know any more than she did. When the Slayer and Joyce came back, they found us in front of the telly. Buffy sent both her mother and sister to bed and then reluctantly thanked me for taking care of Dawn._

_After that, it pretty much happened as you described it. Her thinking I was charming, me offering to stay and protect her – as if the Slayer needed protection in her own home - the admission that I wrote bad verses. And the kiss._

_It was such a small thing. Less than a second, the barest touch of her lips to my skin. It undoubtedly meant nothing to her. Spike wouldn’t have thought twice about it. William was overwhelmed. That simply wasn’t proper at all; yet, she had done it, and he couldn’t regret that she had._

_That simple and oh so chaste kiss seared my soul, my very being, imprinting itself in my mind and body like a lover’s most tender embrace. William probably fell in love with Buffy right there and then, the first lady to ever grant such a tender gesture to him. Spike…_

_Fuck. I’m both Spike and William, ain’t I? Even now, William is in me. Buried deep, no doubt, but still present. Why do I bother trying to pretend we’re separate entities?_

_I started to have a crush on her that night. Even the way she treated me the next time I saw her didn’t change that. It didn’t help that I composed terrible poetry until morning thinking of her and left the less awful of my creations for her before I slipped out of the house half an hour before sunrise. I wasn’t completely under the spell anymore by then, but there must have been some residual effect, because in my right mind I would never have left incriminating proofs behind._

_I returned to the mansion, thanked God that Angelus was asleep, and went straight to sleep. Dreamt of her. Of her fighting, laughing, smiling. Dreamt of her lips. Of a lot more than her lips. It wasn’t only kissing we did in my dreams. And it wasn’t chaste at all._

_When I came out of my room late in the afternoon, Angelus watched me pull the blood from the cooler, all the while grinning. He had learned to keep his mouth shut while waiting to receive his food, and so didn’t say a word until he had drunk the last drop of nasty blood that was our dinner. But after that…_

_After that, it seemed as if he’d never stop. Somehow, he seemed to know. I suppose I must have said her name in my sleep and he heard, that’s the only thing I can think of. He taunted me, told me in graphic details what a good fuck the Slayer was, how tight and responsive she had been under him, that she was a fast learner, that all it would take was a night with her and I would be free of that pesky soul of mine. Told me he’d help me turn her; break her, until she was nothing but an eager slave to me. To us. I don’t think he realized that all he did was convince me not to ever dare touch her._

_Inside, I was shaking from his words, but I refused to give him the pleasure of that knowledge. I remained calm, and put an end to his ramblings by lying and saying the witch had found a better curse and was in the last stages of her preparation. That shut him right up. What I didn’t know at the time was that his re-ensouling was indeed a matter of days._


	11. Revelations

A few days had passed since Buffy had had the unexpected but very enlightening pleasure of meeting William, and it seemed that Spike was intent on avoiding her. Before the chocolate incident, he had made a point of patrolling with her every night; now she was sure he was purposefully avoiding her.

Was he embarrassed, maybe, by the folded sheet of paper bearing her name he had left on the kitchen table? She had not shown it to anyone, and was fairly certain that the poem written on it would never be part of a masterpieces anthology, but it still felt strange that these words had been written for her. Strange, but nice.

She was impatient to talk to him again and see whether his behavior would be different now that she knew what he probably thought was his darkest secret. William the Bloody had once been a gentleman. Hard to believe, yet undeniably true.

At the same time however, it was a good thing that he was laying low. Faith’s new Watcher had arrived a couple of days before, and she was a stickler for the rules, enough to shame Giles. Buffy doubted that Mrs. Post would approve of the gang receiving help from a vampire, even a souled one. And speaking of bleached wonders…

Buffy watched Willow as she wove her way around the dance floor from the restrooms and back to their table when her friend suddenly paused. She turned and walked toward the bar, and Buffy guessed that someone had called her name. Spike. Determined to speak to him, Buffy left their table and arrived in time to hear Willow say that she had found nothing new.

“Nothing new about what?” she inquired curiously.

“Oh, Spike asked me to find a way to foolproof his soul,” Willow replied excitedly, as always, thrilled by the prospect of anything having to do with magic. Her excitement deflated however when she added: “But I haven’t found how to do it yet.”

Buffy was about to ask Spike why he wanted to make his soul failsafe, but as she caught his eye she understood. It wasn’t for him. The realization was like a sudden icy shower, and she shivered, barely noticing when Willow excused herself to join Oz who was just coming off stage.

“She’s still with the wolf, then?” Spike said, sounding surprised, and Buffy frowned at him.

“What do you mean, still? Why wouldn’t she be?”

His eyes had left the couple already, to settle instead on the table where Xander and Cordelia were sitting alone, Faith having left them for the dance floor. He seemed somewhat puzzled as he watched them flirt, and he shook his head slowly, muttering very low:

“Could have sworn she smelled like…”

He cut himself short, and Buffy flashed him a look of distaste.

“You smelled Willow? Can I say ewww? I’m deeply disappointed, William. These are not the manners of a gentleman.”

She had to struggle to keep a straight face when saying the last words, but couldn’t hold her laughter when he looked at her with wide, horrified eyes.

“What the fuck…”

“You thought I’d forget just because you hid for a few days?” she teased him with a grin. “Of course I didn’t. I am the ‘warrior of fire’, I can’t…”

Before she could finish, he was striding away; if the fiery glare he had thrown her was anything to judge from, he was angry.

Why?

She hurried after him, catching up with him outside.

“What is wrong with you?” she called after him. “First you hide, now you run away?”

The reaction was immediate. He stopped dead in his tracks and slowly turned to her, eyes glowing amber in the darkness surrounding them.

“What is wrong with me?” he repeated, his voice like ice. “What the hell is wrong with you, I’d ask. You act like a child, not a fucking warrior. Why don’t you grow up a little, Slayer?”

Taken aback, she stared at him. What was he rambling about now? Was he completely insane? Again?

“If you need a staking,” she said warningly, “I’ll be glad to prove to you I’m not a child.”

He snorted. “You’re not? Oh, excuse me. I must have mistaken you for the other Slayer. The one who likes to make fun of the stupid bloke who tries to keep her alive. Or maybe you’re the one who can’t decide if she wants a murderer alive or dead because she shagged him once.”

“I wasn’t making fun of you!” she shot back angrily. “I thought William was sweet. Definitely nicer than you are now!”

He snorted at that, shaking his head in disbelief, and she continued heatedly. “And you’re the one who doesn’t want to kill Angelus anyway.”

“Yeah, because you’ve been trying real hard, haven’t you, luv? But it’s so difficult to stake a chained vamp, maybe I could give…”

He stopped abruptly; his eyes shifted behind her. Buffy looked back as Faith stepped forward. She felt her throat constrict. How much had she heard – and how much had she understood?

“I thought you two were going to patrol, but it sounds more like you’re getting ready for war,” Faith joked uneasily. When neither of them answered, she added, addressing Buffy: “Did you tell him about the meeting tomorrow? We probably could use his help.”

*****

The fun had already started when Spike arrived at the library the next day, and for a few moments, he hesitated behind the door, listening as the Scoobies took verbal shots at Buffy about Angelus. The night before, he had hoped that Faith hadn’t heard more than was safe, but obviously, she had and had shared her newfound knowledge with the others. They weren’t happy, and that was putting it mildly. If he walked in there, Spike might very well get staked for his role in the mess. It would be safer to walk away, but when had he ever played it safe?

He entered the library as if the he owned the place. The room fell silent as he approached the table and stood next to Buffy. He was still angry with her for mocking him, William, and his poem the night before – just as he had been so sure she would – but his soul refused to let her take full responsibility for Angelus’ continued existence.

“You want to blame someone, blame me,” he said, slowly making in turn eye contact with all of the Scoobies, finishing with the Watcher. “I’m the one who found him. I didn’t let the Slayer stake him. And I want to see him souled again before he is dust.”

A few seconds worth of silence were followed by an eruption of words from all sides. Ignoring them, Spike kept focused on the silent Watcher. He was the one who would make the decision in the end, deciding if anyone was going to be staked.

“Hey! That’s why you wanted an improved curse! Not for you, but, but… for him!”

Willow’s exclamation brought an end to the others’ ramblings, and Spike nodded as he glanced at her.

“That’s why,” he confirmed. “I was going to give you a couple more days to find an answer; then I would have asked you to do it, loophole or not, rather than take the risk that he would escape. You have to trust me on that.”

“Trust you?” someone said from behind him, and Spike turned to see a woman walk into the library and come to stand by Faith. Instinctively, he knew what she was, if not who. A Watcher.

“Trusting vampires seems like an awfully dangerous thing to do,” she commented with a condescending glance toward Giles. “Even vampires with a soul. From what I understand, they are prone to lose it, aren’t they Miss Summers?”

The Slayer blushed brightly, but Spike soon realized it wasn’t from shame, but rather from anger.

“Could you all maybe stop flinging that at me?” she spat heatedly. “Don’t you think I _know_ I made a mistake? A very, very big one? Don’t you think I remember it every time I see Giles? Every time I walk past Miss Calendar’s room? Every time I walk into this room and _see_ Kendra on the floor?”

Her voice broke on the last words, but she wasn’t crying. Not yet. Spike could understand too well for comfort how she felt, and his soul was crying in sympathy for hers. Without being conscious of doing it, he rested a hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly, barely aware of Giles quiet words informing everyone that he needed to talk with his Slayer, and of everyone leaving until it was just the three of them.

Giles words were harsh, but he certainly had cause. Neither Spike nor Buffy could find anything to reply.

*****

_Dear Gwendolyn had warned them against trusting me. Turned out, she wasn’t that trustworthy herself. Had myself a good laugh when it was all over and the Scoobies were left to digest that the big bad this time had been a Watcher. Or rather, ex-Watcher, since her slight tendency to practice dark magic had gotten her kicked out of that fine organization._

_One thing’s sure, she knew what she was about. Might have found that pretty glove appealing myself, if I hadn’t been all soul-having. Hell of a fight to get it off her though, and without me, the Slayers would have been fried. The slayer of Slayers saving two…_

_Alright, alright, no need to get fussy. Helping, not saving. A bloke can’t even embellish a little anymore…_

_She did have one redeeming quality, our wannabe destroyer. Books. The girl apparently traveled with a few rare volumes, and Giles managed to get his hands on them. They gave him and Willow the key._

_Two days after the whole glove near fiasco, the Slayer came to the mansion, told me – and Angelus – that they had an answer to the loophole and were fixing the last details. One more night, and they were there. They could have done the spell from the library, but for some reason they decided to do it at the mansion._

_They were all there except for Faith, even those who had no part in the spell. It’s as if they wanted to witness the resouling, to be sure that Angelus was gone for good. And if he wasn’t… they had stakes. It took hours of chanting and nasty smelling herbs – or at least it felt like hours to me. All the while, Angelus was struggling to free himself more than ever before. He was utterly enraged, promising all of us the most painful death. That didn’t stop them._

_Eventually, there was a flash of light. Angelus fell to his knees, head bent down as if dizzy. The silence was so complete; I couldn’t even hear the humans’ respiration. They must have been holding their breath. All of us were waiting. For what? I’m not sure. A sudden sign proclaiming that this was now Angel in front of us? A tearful apology for everything that had happened since the last time he had been around? A cruel laugh that would have informed us the spell hadn’t worked?_

_We all woke up from our daze when he finally looked up, blinking wildly as his gaze swept the room. He seemed startled for a second when he saw me standing there with the Scoobies, but not as startled as me when I realized I could see it in his eyes. See the soul._

_“It worked,” I announced to the humans, and there were a couple of relieved sigh from the kids. Buffy started to walk toward Angel, but Giles’ hand on her arm stopped her. He did a quick spell, something I vaguely remembered him doing on me during the summer. A simple trick to reveal if a demon had a soul or not. The test was positive._

_“It worked,” Giles echoed my words. He didn’t sound like he really believed. Or maybe he didn’t want to believe. I often wondered why he had agreed to help Willow modify the spell and perform it. I suppose he thought it would make his Slayer happy. Of course it did. Not for long though._

_“What worked? What’s going on? Buffy?”_

_Angel’s first words. Clueless as ever._

_The kids trickled out of the mansion, silent, until only the Watcher, Buffy and myself were left, all three of us facing Angel. He still hadn’t received an answer. It took him calling Buffy’s name again for her to finally step forward and free him from the chains. She lowered herself to her knees in front of him, comforting him with hesitant touches and soft words. It was somewhat eerie to see her act as if the last months, almost year had been nothing but a nightmare, and to seemingly fall back in love with him like that. I suppose she had never stopped loving Angel even when Angelus was making her life hell._

_It hurt me, because, as I already admitted, I had a crush on her. But when she babbled that nothing had happened, that Angel shouldn’t worry about it and everything would be fine, I saw the Watcher jerk back as if he had been slapped. I’m sure she didn’t mean it like that. The last thing she would have wanted was to hurt Giles, but she did, very effectively. Deeply enough that, when I drew him outside, he followed without a word of protest._

_We found our way to the closest human bar, and we proceeded to drink ourselves into a stupor. He was drunk long before me, but even then he kept quiet. Finest example of British upbringing. Or maybe I wasn’t the best person for him to talk to. I helped him back to his flat when he looked like he had enough liquor in him to stand the night, opened the door for him and pushed him in. I didn’t have an invite, and didn’t want one. He stumbled a little, but had the presence of mind to come back to the door to close it._

_“I haven’t forgotten,” I told him then. “And if it were to bring you any peace, I’d apologize.”_

_I wasn’t as drunk as I wished I had been. Neither was he, because he nodded, slowly, and there was something on his face that told me he understood what I meant. Thankfully, he didn’t say a word before closing the door. I don’t think I could have stood it if he had._

_Sunrise wasn’t anywhere close, but I didn’t feel like staying out. Drunk, but again not enough to think I was in any state to pick a fight. I was surprised to discover that the Slayer was gone when I entered the mansion; part of me had expected them to fall into bed right away. Surprised to find Angel standing in front of the fireplace, staring into the flames as if they held all the answers. Surprised when he spoke to me, without even turning to look at me._

_“You have a soul.”_

_I can’t really remember what his voice sounded like. I like to imagine it was the voice of a whiny child who suddenly discovers he’s not as unique as he thought he was. Must have grated that he wasn’t anymore ‘the’ vampire with a soul, but only one of the two._

_“So do you,” I replied blankly. “Again.”_

_Finally, he turned toward me. He looked… haunted. There’s no other word for it. Made me choke on all the nasty things I had in store for him. Made me forget all the questions I had waited so long to ask. Made me unable to stand anymore, and so I collapsed on the floor, my back to the wall, as I had done so many times before when I had wished I had Angel in front of me instead of Angelus. He told me, then, that he couldn’t remember everything. Told me he had shreds of memories, but couldn’t make sense of them. Said Buffy had been unable to talk about it. Asked me to fill him in._

_I did._

_I didn’t sugarcoat it. Didn’t forget anything. But also tried not to say ‘you’ did this and ‘you’ that. Instead, it was ‘Angelus killed the Watcher’s girl’. ‘Angelus tortured the Watcher’. ‘Angelus tried to send us all to hell’. ‘Angelus’… did so many things that my soul wished I didn’t know about; things I wished I hadn’t done myself in the past. I knew, from first hand knowledge, that however I said it he would blame himself for all of it. He could pretend and convince anyone else that he was totally distinct from Angelus, but he couldn’t fool himself, and he couldn’t fool me, not anymore. I knew better, now. Didn’t mean I needed to make it even more painful for him._

_Because it was painful. With every word, I could see him hurting a little more. But I didn’t stop. He had a right to know. Had a right to his own guilt. Everyone was going to look at him and remember what had happened. He had a right to know exactly what they would be thinking when seeing him._

_When I was done with my tale, he was silent for a long time. Then he thanked me, no louder than a whisper. I think there were tears on his face when he walked by me and toward his room, but I may have been mistaken._

_I had told him how he had lost his soul, and that it wouldn’t happen again. He never asked if my soul had conditions on it or not. He probably had too much to brood about. The question of cursing me with a no-loophole spell wasn’t raised by anyone until my losing my soul had become an issue._


	12. Never Friends

“Spike? Who did you piss off this time?”

Buffy’s sneering comment made Spike turn to her and growl, game face in full effect.

“How do you know they’re not after you?” he shot back as he dusted his assailant with his own stake.

“Because they usually don’t come at me with stakes.”

She was right, and she knew he knew it; just as she knew he wasn’t going to admit it. He had been irritable ever since he had turned up for patrol, and if she was correct, the smell coming off him was alcohol. He didn’t appear to be drunk, but she would have bet anything he had been not very long ago.

“How about we get out of here?” he suggested before a fresh wave of vamps could attack. They were clearly outnumbered, and she agreed easily. There was no shame in knowing when to retreat, or so Giles had told her on a couple of occasions.

At her signal, they fled. They ran the entire cemetery and three more blocks before they finally shook off the last of their attackers.

“So, any idea why they want to dust you?” she asked again.

He shrugged as he searched his pockets for his cigarettes and lighter and grimaced when he pulled out an almost empty package.

“What do you think? I patrol with the Slayer. Does Trick need a better reason that that?”

She stared at him. “You know who is after you?”

“I don’t know for sure,” he said after he had lit a cigarette. “But he tried to off you, so it makes sense he would try to get rid of me for helping you.”

She remembered then where she had heard the name before. Trick was the vamp who had organized Slayerfest. It was hard to believe it had not even been a month since she had refused to listen to Spike’s warning. Hard to believe, also, how much she had come to rely on Spike since then. Even… even begun to trust him.

“I’ll head back to the mansion,” Spike said glumly. “Lay low for a couple of nights, see if they forget about me.”

Buffy nodded and decided to accompany him. She had planned to see Angel later as she did most nights, so she might as well go now with Spike in case he was attacked again. She doubted that the vampires would give up so fast, or that Spike would be able to stay in for more than a night as he had said for that matter.

She had noticed he had been very edgy the last few days – or rather, even more than he had been before. And it was worse on the nights Angel joined them for patrol; Spike infallibly walked away without a word after a few minutes. It was difficult for her to understand why he had wanted so much to keep Angelus alive and curse him with a soul. Now that it had happened, they didn’t seem to be getting along. Apparently, his plans had not worked any better than Buffy’s.

After Angel had returned, Buffy had been happy. She had hoped that they could pick up from where they had left off after that fateful night; but more importantly, she had had the certitude that everything would be fine. Everything. Instead, long days and even longer nights had passed crushing her illusions.

Everything was going to be fine, except nothing was.

Her mom knew about Angel’s return. She did not approve of Buffy spending time with him – and that was the understatement of the century. Coming from the same woman who regularly chatted with a vampire over cups of hot cocoa, it was, however, somewhat laughable. Moreover, it was during one of these chats that she had learned about Angel, Spike having blabbered about it one night.

Buffy had given him hell, until he had icily pointed out that her mother deserved a minimum of respect and telling her what everyone else knew had been a simple courtesy on his part. He really cared about Joyce, and Buffy wasn’t sure what to think of their friendship. She wasn’t sure, either, if she was imagining things or if he had sounded like William when he had lectured her.

Giles and the Scoobies were very twitchy whenever someone mentioned Angel’s name. She couldn’t really blame them; but she had hoped they wouldn’t have reacted so badly. After all, they had accepted Spike.

They were supportive, in their own way, but there had been no mistaking Willow’s relief when Buffy had told her she was only friend with Angel, nothing more. Angel wasn’t ready for more; he seemed wary of the theoretical improvement of the cursing spell. Buffy wasn’t sure she trusted it either, or that she trusted herself. Sometimes, she wasn’t even sure she trusted Angel.

When he had been resouled, Angel had had no memory of what had happened. It could have made things simpler, but it didn’t, quite the contrary. He had asked her to tell him what he couldn’t remember, to help him understand why he was on the mansion’s floor, chained, with the Scoobies doing spells over him, and Spike looking at him as if he were the devil and his savior all rolled into one. 

Buffy hadn’t been able to tell him. She knew now that Spike had, and Angel’s pain and guilt about what he had done were obvious. She tried to spend time with him, comfort him; but it wasn’t always easy, especially when she was the one needing to be comforted. They were taking things slow. There had been a few late night patrols, but not enough talking as far as Buffy was concerned. She didn’t know what, if anything, Angel felt for her now. They hadn’t picked up things were they had left off with Angelus’ intrusion. Instead, they had started again from square one, and sometimes, it felt as if they’d never get any further than that.

*****

As soon as he and Buffy reached the mansion, Spike retreated to his room before the usual show could make him gag. He had seen the Slayer and Angel do their act practically every night since his grand-sire had returned, and every night it was worse. She came to the mansion after patrol, spent an hour or two with the big brooder, tried to make him talk when it was clearly the last thing Angel wanted to do. Or maybe not the last. Spike had never seen them do much more than hold hands. It was downright sickening.

Not that he wanted them to do anything more than hold hands, of course.

They were playing a game, both of them, pretending they were old friends getting reacquainted after a long absence, pretending they didn’t still want each other. It didn’t really work. It was clear to anyone but the most obtuse that the attraction was still there. They both wished things would go back to what they had once shared; but they both were too scared to even try to reach out for it and see if it was possible. And that was nauseating to Spike. If they had fallen in bed together, he could have accepted it. Not been happy about it, but not surprised either. But to see them dance around each other, pretending they didn’t want more and being miserable for no other reason than because they were inflicting it upon themselves…

One good thing had happened with Angel’s return. He apparently had a little money stored away, and in itself, it had been a surprise, although not as much as the fact that he was now paying for their blood. They hadn’t talked much since Spike had explained to him the events during Angelus’ little stroll, and Spike could see that his grand-sire was wary of him, which made his generosity even stranger.

Spike still planned to ask the questions that burned his lips, about the soul, how to make it ache less, how to simply survive; but there had never been a good time so far. Angel was always brooding, or with Buffy, or in his room, and none of it helped to start a conversation. So instead, Spike took his time, telling himself that he was simply waiting for Angel to adjust to his soul.

Cheap booze bought with the cash he didn’t spend on blood helped to make the time go faster. Drunkenness was a blessed state of being, freeing him from the less than pleasant guilt he still wasn’t getting used to as well as the crappy soap opera playing out in his own house – no, not his, Angel’s. The claim hadn’t been made in words, but it was all too clear from the way Angel had taken to cleaning it, even getting a sofa and armchair from wherever.

Drunkenness was a blessed state of being, but it was also difficult to achieve with only one bottle of bad scotch.

Having emptied said bottle, Spike put his boots and duster back on with a little more difficulty than usual and frowned as he checked his pockets. Enough to get a bottle, even two if he picked the cheapest brand, but definitely not enough to last long. Scowling, he walked out of his room, trying both to steady his uneven stride and to ignore the not-couple on his way out of the mansion. Unfortunately, the not-couple didn’t ignore him.

“Where are you going?” the Slayer called before he had reached the door. “Vampire gang wants you dust, remember?”

He stopped with his hand on the door handle, the muscles in his arms shaking from holding it too tight. The battle in him was raging. Part of him wanted the fight, the possibility of coming across the gang again and being dust before morning came. But another part, a louder part, refused to take the easy way out.

“At least if I’m dust I won’t have to look at you two anymore,” he growled.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Buffy replied instantly, defensive as always.

He turned to face them. They had been all cozy, sitting on the new sofa by the fire, but now the Slayer was on her feet, arms crossed and eyes storming.

“It means,” he replied slowly, fighting his uncooperative tongue to enunciate each word precisely, “that it makes me sick to see the act you’re playing. Making googly-eyes at each other…”

“We are not…”

“… and pretending you aren’t,” he finished as if he hadn’t been interrupted, his words becoming quicker and more slurred as he came to stand in front of her. “Bad stuff happened, got that, I was there too. Now you’re trying to pretend it didn’t, not talking about it and ignoring that everyone sees Angelus rather than Angel. Even you, Slayer. Fuck, even Angel does it, don’t you peaches? It’s fine with me. Not going around calling myself William. You were right, Slayer, I’m not different. Soul or not, I’m the same man inside; it’s time we all stopped pretending. Angelus could have loved you, if he hadn’t been so bloody scared of what it meant. And now your dear Angel is just as scared, and you…”

Angel finally reacted, getting up and glaring at Spike as he ordered him to be quiet.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Angel spat. “You’ve had a soul for a few months, and you think you have it all figured out? You think it’ll make it hurt any less to help the Slayer do her job? You haven’t begun to learn. And you don’t know a damn thing about love either. Just because you were with Dru since she made you, you think that makes you an expert? She didn’t even…”

Spike’s reaction was instinctive. And like so many times before with Angelus, he lashed out at the implied insult about his relationship with Drusilla. His fist was blocked inches from Angel’s face by the Slayer’s deceptively small hand.

“I think you need to sober up,” she said coldly. “You’re obviously not thinking straight…”

“And you’re thinking too much!” he shouted, pulling out of her grip and storming away from them. “You two look at each other and I can practically hear you think! Wondering if you can forget and forgive, if there’s too much in your past to be more than friends, or if you’ll end up hating each other because it all gets so blurred. Hey, newsflash. You're not friends. You'll never be friends. You'll be in love till it kills you both. You'll fight, and you'll shag, and you'll hate each other till it makes you quiver, but you'll never be friends. Love isn't brains, children, it's blood... blood screaming inside you to work its will.”

Hand clenched over his own aching heart, he watched them, standing side by side, looking at him as if he were insane. Too blind to see they were more insane than he was. Shaking his head in disgust, he strode out of the mansion, leaving them to their game of pretend.

*****

The vampire in front of him twitched in nervousness, and Mayor Wilkins sighed. He was beginning to regret his decision of employing vampires. The same sense of initiative that had interested him in Mr. Trick in the first place had now proved to be more than a slight inconvenience.

“Now, explain to me again why you thought it would be a good idea to rouse the Slayer’s suspicions that vampires in this town are anything but organized,” he asked pleasantly. “And while you’re at it, try to persuade me that you’ll never do something stupid behind my back again. By all means, be convincing. I hate to have dust all over my office. It’s very unsanitary.”

*****

_Angel, in all of his incarnations, had and still has a problem with letting people get close to him. Got a whole theory about that and how it played a part in Angelus’ obsession with the Slayer. Angel had allowed her to get close, too close, close enough to make him feel human, and that just set Angelus off once he was back. It didn’t help that his demon had lost the plot somewhere after a century of being caged._

_I had seen the same thing before, with Darla, Dru, even me. Periods of showering us with attention followed by sheer brutality once his interest reached a certain point. Angelus refused to feel anything that might have even remotely resembled love, claiming demons could not know the feeling. Angel followed the same path, simply shifting his arguments to say he wasn’t worthy of being loved, couldn’t give the other person’s what they deserved. Buffy learned about his feelings soon enough._

_I guess it’s not just a demon thing though, that inability to accept and enjoy what is freely given to you. Humans also get hurt in this game. Like the Witch and Harris. They played with fire and got burnt; burnt their loved ones in the process. I had seen it coming – smelled it, in fact, as their scents were more of each other’s than of their respective crushes – but it had never been my business to interfere with their choices, and I couldn’t make myself care much about the crash when it came. I had my own deep aches by then._

_I had thought Angel’s presence would help me. Thought he’d be able to share with me whatever he had learned about being souled in the past hundred years –bloody bastard. I still haven’t decided if he has learned nothing or if he simply is too much of a bastard to share. I had thought also that having someone like me around would make things easier. I am not one for loneliness. Angel’s return made me feel lonelier than I had even been with Angelus around. The bloody idiot would barely talk to me at all, and that night when he finally did it was to basically rip me to shreds. And there was the matter of the Slayer, still in love but so afraid of what might happen if the curse hadn’t really been fixed, spending ever more time with Angel, and in consequence less with the bloody idiot who had a crush on her._

_I was set on leaving town when I left the mansion the next night under Angel’s silent stare. I didn’t believe I had it in me to fight once more with him over a woman who had already chosen. I didn’t believe I could stay and not eventually make a fool of myself. Of course I had to stop and say goodbye to Dawn and Joyce. And of course they talked me out of leaving Sunnyhell._


	13. Like Ashes

When Spike woke, his internal clock informed him that it was the middle of the afternoon – a few hours left before sunset. His pounding head reminded him that not only did cheap alcohol taste terrible, but it also made for atrocious hangovers. And his nose told him that he wasn’t alone; Drusilla was in the crypt with him.

That last bit, he dismissed without a second thought. Even with canons and fireworks echoing in his brain, he knew all too well where he was and why. He knew, just as well, that his Dru was gone.

Less than a week before, he had moved out of the mansion after having reached the limits of his endurance as far as angst was concerned. At the time, he had thought about leaving Sunnydale, but Joyce had easily convinced him otherwise, with the double argument that she would miss their talks and Buffy could certainly use his help on patrol. Instead, he had found himself a new place to call home before morning.

It didn’t have the flair of the mansion, he admitted, but some cleaning and scavenging had turned a dreary, dusty, moldy crypt into… well, a still dreary but a bit less dusty and moldy crypt. And it was his. He had a bed – or rather, he had a mattress – to sleep on in the lower level, a few empty crates for storage ready for when he would actually own stuff, a nice exposed pipe to tap for cold but free showers, and a fridge – unplugged, therefore not so effective – where he stored his blood and booze.

The Slayer knew where he now resided, he had pointed out the crypt to her, but she had not been invited to visit nor had she asked for a tour. He had thought their first patrol after his little drunken speech about love would have been awkward; but she had acted as if nothing had happened, and he had taken his cue from her. Denial was as good a place as any to dwell, he supposed.

Spike massaged at his temples, desperately willing the headache away, when a whisper froze him. Slowly, oh so slowly, he opened his eyes. Still in the crypt, check. Soul? Still there with the guilt, voices and never faltering hand squeezing his heart. And yet… He took a deep breath, and there it was again, stronger and undeniable now. Drusilla’s scent. And again that tiny whisper…

Ignoring the pounding in his head, he sat up on the bed and quickly located the source of noise. Again, he froze.

“Drusilla? Kitten?”

His voice was a choked murmur that did not seem to reach Dru. She didn’t move from where she was sitting on the floor, legs drawn up in front of her and her arms wrapped around them. Naked and covered with cuts and bruises, she continued to whisper, so quietly he couldn’t make out the words.

Finally shaking himself out of his torpor, Spike stood and slowly approached her, trying to appear as unthreatening as he could; he remembered how Angelus had been feral and disoriented when he had first reappeared. He knelt in front of her, reaching out to caress her hair, but before he could touch the tangled silk she raised her face to look at him.

“Princess is hungry,” she said in a whiny voice, and Spike had to suppress the laugh that wanted to bubble past his throat. Dru was back and fine, not broken like Angelus had been.

“I’ll be right back, luv,” he said quickly as he rose. “Going to get you food. Don’t move, OK?”

She didn’t reply, but already he was stumbling to the ladder, hurrying upstairs to his fridge and then back down with two containers of blood. He placed them by the bed, then went to Drusilla and gently lifted her from the floor and carried her to the mattress.

“I know it’s cold and not very good,” he murmured apologetically as he offered her the first container, “but it’s blood. It’ll make you right in a minute.”

She grimaced as she sniffed the blood, but drank it all anyway, before doing the same with the second jar. Still baffled by her presence, Spike only watched her, drinking in the sight of the woman he had spend so many years with, realizing that he had missed her more than he had thought. However, she wasn’t the sole owner of his heart anymore.

When she had drunk all the blood, she licked her lips clean, gazing at Spike from behind almost close eyelids.

“Still hungry,” she announced, and Spike sighed.

“I don’t have any more, luv. I’ll get more later, I promise. Why don’t you get some rest…”

He was startled when she shifted to game face and lunged at him; but he did not try to defend himself and instead offered her better access to his throat. Her fangs tearing into his flesh were pain and bliss all at once. He held her tight to him, trying to show her that he wasn’t going to pull away, that he was willing to give her anything she needed. She stopped drinking after only a few seconds; and when she moved back, he could see that she seemed confused.

“You taste like ashes,” she said sadly as she ran a nail down his cheek, drawing up a bloodless welt.

His throat tightened. Four words that summed up what he knew was going to be the biggest obstacle in front of them. No human blood in his veins – and none in hers if he could help it. He watched her lie down on the bed, her back to him, his lone sheet drawn up to hide everything but the top of her head. He had many questions for her, about whether she remembered where she had been, and how she had been brought back. And he had decisions to make, with her, or maybe for her.

If she was going to stay with him, and there was no doubt in his mind that she would, he wouldn’t be able to let her kill, and so another soul spell would be needed. It would be difficult for her, after all she already had more voices in her head that she should have had, but he would be there for her, would help her, and she would help him.

Such were Spike’s thoughts as he took the sewer tunnels to his car, then drove to the mansion. Ignoring a startled Angel who was reading by the fire, he strode into the master bedroom, trying not to flinch as he entered it. It didn’t take long for him to find the chest containing Drusilla’s things, and he grabbed a dress, the porcelain doll and hair brush that were in it. When he stood again with his bounty, Angel was by the door, watching him with an incredulous look.

“Drusilla?” he questioned quietly. “How did she…”

“Don’t know how,” Spike cut in sharply as he pushed by him and left the mansion again. He didn’t have time to chat. He wanted to be back in his crypt before Dru woke up if he could.

She was awake when he arrived though, and dripping wet. Apparently, she had discovered what passed for a shower in his not so luxurious accommodations, but had not found his motel-borrowed towels. He wrapped her in the largest one, gently rubbing her skin dry and wincing at the bruises marring her flesh, before making her sit on the bed so he could work on her hair with the brush.

The action was domestic, soothing, something he had done for her countless times in the past. But unlike the past when she had regaled him with sweet stories about pixies and stars, now she was now strangely quiet. He couldn’t make himself talk either; he wasn’t sure what to tell her, how to explain how deeply things had changed. Part of him remembered Darla’s rejection of Angel because of his soul, and the idea that his own sire could reject him the same way was painful. And terrifying.

“Are you feeling alright, princess?” he asked at last. “Apart from being hungry?”

She tilted her head slightly, and he adapted his strokes to the new position.

“It’s very noisy in here,” she stated calmly. “Don’t the voices ever quiet down?”

His hand faltered for an instant.

“No they don’t, luv,” he replied as coolly as he could. “You can hear them?”

“William is cross.”

“That he is.”

Letting go of the brush, he ran a towel over her hair, drying it gently as he fought to find the words to explain. He finally knelt in front of her and took her hands in his.

“I am different, now, kitten,” he said softly.

“I know. Like daddy.”

He managed to suppress the grimace that her words inspired, but before he could say anymore she was talking again, freeing her hands from his to gesture around his head.

“I can see her floating all around you. Even brighter than your soul.”

Frowning, Spike watched her stand and discard the towel as she reached for the dress he had brought back.

“Her?” he repeated, dumbfounded. “Who, luv?”

She clucked her tongue reprovingly. “No more love for you. Miss Edith and princess can’t stay with someone who taste like ashes.”

All his fears resurfaced.

“Dru, it’s the soul, I can’t…”

“Not the soul, silly. You didn’t have a soul when you fought with the Slayer and sent me to hell, did you? You thought I’d forget? I’m insane, Spike. Not stupid.”

Wide-eyed, he watched her slip the dress on, the protest that Angelus had sent her through Acathla, not him, dying on his lips. Insane? She didn’t sound insane at all. Actually, she had never sounded so rational before. In other circumstances, he might have found it funny how going through Acathla had made Angelus lose his mind, if only for a time, but had apparently done the exact opposite for Dru.

“The soul is lovely,” she said when she was clothed and came to stand in front of his still kneeling form. “Bright and singing like a delicious bird. I would have stayed just to hear you sing. It is your pretty soul that drew me to you, don’t you remember? Effulgent William. Then it was gone but I still kept you. Different, and singing another song, but still bright so I let you be my knight.”

The fleeting smile playing on her lips disappeared, and her face slowly locked into an icy mask. Spike didn’t notice. He was still trying to comprehend. She couldn’t mean… What did she mean exactly?

“But you’re hers already, and I don’t want to play with another little girl’s toys. The pixies don’t like to share. Better to get far away before she even knows I was here.”

The last words were murmured, as if she were talking to herself, and already she was walking to the ladder. Feet bare, damp hair sticking to the back of her dress, a porcelain doll under one arm, she had all the grace of a queen stepping on her throne. Belatedly realizing that she was leaving, Spike darted after her, catching her just as she opened the crypt’s door on the quickly falling dusk.

“Drusilla, don’t…”

A gentle smile and a finger to his lips stopped him. “Goodbye, Spike. Goodbye, sweet William.”

He wanted to grab her, prevent her from going anywhere; but he couldn’t move a muscle. She hadn’t used her thrall on him more than a couple of times in the past, but he still recognized the helpless feeling never the less. All he could do was watch her walk away from him, and let the certitude sink in that he’d never see her again.

*****

After Spike’s short visit, Angel was restless until nightfall, trying to understand what was happening. He had smelled Drusilla on Spike as soon as he had walked in, and the thought that she was back was both incredible and frightening.

She had gone through Acathla before him, and if he still had trouble remembering what had happened after he had lost his soul, he could on the other hand perfectly remember centuries of torture and torment. The idea that Drusilla might have gone through the same thing was intolerable. Hadn’t she suffered enough, already?

Suspecting that Buffy would come to the mansion and unsure whether he would be back when she did, Angel left a note for her, telling her he had business to conduct and not to wait for him. He would miss her; he sometimes felt that he only endured the endless days for the pleasure of seeing her at night. But at the same time, he couldn’t help the twinge of relief that, for once, he wouldn’t have to battle himself in her presence. The fight was getting incredibly difficult, a little more every night, and he didn’t know how long he could resist before succumbing.

Somehow, it would have been easier if they had cursed him like the first time around. At least, they knew the loophole of that spell, and all he would have had to do was stay clear of too complete happiness. But the fact that they had changed the spell complicated everything. They thought his soul was anchored now. Thought that he could be as perfectly happy as he wished. What if they were wrong? What if the loophole was still there? Could he allow himself to take the risk, knowing what hell he would unleash for all of them, and especially Buffy, if his soul disappeared again?

And furthermore, did he even have the right to try to be happy after what he had done? He had gone to Jenny Calendar’s grave and had tried to remember her death, without success. What he could remember however was the pencil in his hand as he sketched her, lying on Giles’ bed. He hadn’t faced the Watcher yet. He wasn’t sure he would be able to.

And Buffy’s behavior, as she tried to pretend nothing irreparable had happened, only complicated things. He didn’t want to patrol with her and risk coming face to face with the Scoobies or even Giles. He didn’t want to come to a research party. What he wanted was to be sure he’d never be Angelus again. If it meant he couldn’t be more than a friend for Buffy… well, he was ready for that eventuality. Better to be her friend than her enemy. Which was apparently also Spike’s motto.

Over the past weeks, he had become thoroughly annoyed that his grand-childe was regularly patrolling with Buffy. He couldn’t understand why Spike did it – to alleviate his guilt? Did he really think it would be enough? – nor did he understand why Buffy allowed it. Did she really trust Spike? Even with a soul, Angel couldn’t make himself trust him. He had waited for days for him to finally come clean and tell him why he hadn’t staked Angelus the minute he had come back, or why he had insisted for his soul to be restored, but Spike had moved out of the mansion without ever explaining himself. And now, if Drusilla really was back, it was time to get these answers and even more.

Buffy had pointed out Spike’s new home to him during one of the few times he had patrolled with her, and he had no trouble finding the place again. The place was empty when he arrived there half an hour after sunset, and Angel supposed that Spike had gone out to patrol with Buffy. Either that, or he was out with Dru. Now that he was in the crypt, her scent was much stronger and made it clear that he hadn’t been mistaken earlier. Drusilla had indeed returned.

After a cursory inspection of both levels of the crypt, Angel settled on the sarcophagus on the ground level and waited. It was long past midnight when Spike finally returned.

“Where is she?” were Angel’s first words as Spike closed the heavy door behind him.

Spike didn’t seem surprised to see him there and barely shrugged. “Gone.”

Angel frowned, unsure about how to take that, unsure which possibility he favored. “Dusted gone or left gone?”

“She left. Left me, left Sunnydale probably. She didn’t seem too keen on meeting the Slayer.”

There was a lot of pain in those few words, and Angel watched as the Spike tried to wash it down with a swig of bourbon.

“Alcohol doesn’t help.”

Spike’s head instantly turned, and for the first time cool blue eyes settled on him. “Does anything?”

Angel shook his head. He didn’t know what to say.

“You don’t have any answer, do you?” Spike asked blankly after a few seconds. “I thought you’d show me, but you have no fucking clue. Bloody fucking…”

Angel watched, impassible, as Spike shattered a couple of empty bottles on the wall – not the full one, however – before kicking at the shards, all the while cursing profusely and quite inventively. He now knew one thing. Spike had hoped to get answers from him, which was why he had kept him around. The disappointment must have been very sharp.

“Do you think Dru ever loved me?”

The quiet question startled Angel as much as Spike’s sudden stillness. He wasn’t looking at Angel, his gaze fixed on the wall in front of him, but Angel could guess by the tension in his body that whatever answer he gave would mean a lot to Spike. The question was, how should he answer?

“I do not believe Dru was able to love,” he said after long seconds of heavy silence. “At least, not like you loved her.”

The only indication Spike gave that he had heard was a small nod. He then took a long swig of alcohol, and walked to the ladder that led to the lower level. Angel took this as his cue to leave, but before he had reached the door Spike once again startled him.

“Did you?”

That was another question Angel had no answer for.

*****

_For a while, I thought that Dru had reappeared like Angelus, without rhyme or reason. Then I met Anyanka – no, Anya by then – and learned what kind of demon she had been. I remembered crossing her path before while I was a bit too drunk to recall much more than having talked to a stranger. When I learned that she specialized in avenging scorned women, I told myself that couldn’t have been it; it was just a coincidence. But I eventually asked her if she had granted me a wish, and she admitted she had. I asked her why – ‘cause you know, I might have been scorned but I wasn’t exactly female. The answer was disappointingly simple. She had seen me around the Slayer, and she had thought that giving me a wish would disrupt Buffy’s life enough to make it worthwhile for her to grant an exception for a man._

_There’s something though that I didn’t found the guts to ask. I didn’t dare ask if my wish got cancelled when Anyanka lost her powers. I couldn’t bear to think that Dru had returned straight to Acathla’s hell, and it was easier to tell myself she was off somewhere, safe and happily back to her insane self. Yeah, the idea that I let her go while I knew that she’d feed and kill was nagging at my soul for a while, but I tried to convince myself that by hunting and dusting vamps every night I made enough of a difference not to feel guilty about her continued existence._

_Even today, I still love her a bit, I suppose. I don’t think it’s possible to love someone for so long and have all of it disappear when another person take their place. At least, that’s not how it works for me. I still have a soft spot for her, for the decades we spent together, even if I still wonder if during all this time she ever really loved me. Probably not like I thought she did. It was painful to realize that my love had not been returned as I believed for so long, but it was also an eye-opener. It proved to me that it’s possible to love in different ways, to show it in different manners. Possible to love several persons at once. But most importantly it showed me that love doesn’t need to be requited to exist. It just is, and there’s nothing to be done about it. As I had told the Slayer and Angel, the only thing to do is to follow your blood. I’m kinda proud that it’s the only thing I ever did._

_The greatest lesson of all, I had already learned it long before though. It’s the one humans find so hard to believe, especially the Slayer._

_It is possible to love, truly love, without a soul. I am the unliving proof of that._


	14. Oh, Don't Deceive me

A loud snapping noise echoed in the library and Giles threw a stern glance across the table at Spike. The vampire replied with a somewhat apologetic look as he placed the ancient book he had angrily closed on top of the other ones, all just as old. Giles could agree that the exercise was frustrating, but there was no point in damaging precious volumes.

They were the only two still awake. Xander was asleep at the counter, Willow in Giles’ office, and Buffy up in the stacks. They had spent the night researching, hardly the best way to enjoy their end of year vacation. Sunrise was slowly approaching, and Spike had an hour left, maybe a little less, to get back safely to his crypt. Not that Giles would have admitted to caring about his safety.

“Still nothing?” he asked quietly.

Spike shook his head. “Hard to find anything when you don’t know what you’re looking for.”

The Watcher acquiesced. He glanced again at the book on his lap before adding it to the table’s pile. He then stood and began pacing, anything to try to awaken his tired mind so he could decide where to search next.

“You’re sure Angel said nothing more that we could use?” he inquired again. His voice was devoid of emotion when he said the vampire’s name. It still surprised him how much harder it was to adjust to Angel’s return, when he had accepted Spike’s help somewhat easily. Of course, Spike hadn’t killed the woman Giles had loved or tortured him, mentally or physically.

“Told you, he was rather incoherent,” Spike replied, sounding exhausted. “Wanted to know why he had been brought back and...”

“You mean, why Angelus was brought back, right?” Giles cut in harshly.

Spike sighed. “As I see it, that’s part of the problem. He blames himself for what happened, doesn’t want things to repeat themselves. He’s afraid he’ll revert to Angelus. Probably thinks whoever or whatever brought him back has plans for him. And I think he was seeing things that weren’t there while he was talking to me.”

For long seconds, Giles observed Spike, who, as was so often the case, wouldn’t return his gaze without flinching. Anyone looking for the signs could see that Spike still suffered from his guilt, but he had become better at hiding it from the younger members of the group and acted as if he were perfectly fine around them. Tonight however, he was particularly distracted, and more than once Giles had noticed his almost inaudible muttering, something he had done in the first days after he had been ensouled.

“You didn’t mention hallucinations earlier,” Giles finally pointed out. “And how do you know what Angel is afraid of? Did he say…”

“He didn’t say it in so many words, but I know him well enough to read between the lines. Know what I’d think if I was in his place.”

There was something Spike wasn’t saying. It had been there all night long, but only now could Giles realize what it might be.

“Whatever is affecting Angel… it’s affecting you too, isn’t it? Do you have hallucinations?”

Spike looked startled for an instant, and then his face was an expressionless mask. “I didn’t go to hell, Watcher, at least not yet. And no one brought me back.”

“But you’re afraid to lose your soul and go back to what you were,” Giles insisted, following his intuition. “That’s how you know how Angel feels; it’s the same for you.”

Pale blue eyes left Giles to quickly look up to the stacks. Giles glanced there too, seeing nothing but hearing quiet steps that meant Buffy was awake. When he returned his attention to Spike, he was standing and slipping his coat on.

“Remember what you said this summer?” Spike asked quietly, almost absently. “About me having a soul being part of someone’s grand plan or something. Did you really believe that?”

In truth, at the time, Giles had been trying to convince himself he was doing the right thing. Nevertheless, things had changed since then.

“What I believe,” he replied with as much conviction as he could muster, “is that something as extraordinary as the return of your soul would not happen without a meaning. You have a soul for a reason, and I think it’s up to you to find out what that reason is.”

Strangely, Spike’s gaze wasn’t on him as Giles spoke, but instead slightly to his left. When he shook his head before leaving without another word, Giles was convinced Spike’s reaction hadn’t been in response to his voice.

Hallucinations… A slight frown creased Giles’ brow as he remembered fragments of something he had read years before. Letters, if his memory was to be trusted. About the first of a kind, or something along those lines. Now if he could only find them, maybe they’d have the beginning of an answer.

*****

The last couple of days had been increasingly difficult, and Spike was telling himself that he shouldn’t have accepted Joyce’s invitation. He hadn’t slept at all the night before, researching with the Scoobies despite the taunting and suggestions to kill murmured into his ear. The ghost had followed him back to the crypt, and he had had a hellish day, and still no rest. It was dangerous that he was here. Dangerous for Joyce and her daughter.

He was about to walk away, anywhere as long as it was away from the Summers women, when the door opened and Joyce smiled at him, inviting him inside the house with a gesture. Apprehensive, he crossed the threshold, hoping that the ghost following him would stay outside, but knowing it wouldn’t. He tried to focus on Joyce’s words so as not to hear the other’s.

“I’m glad you came,” Joyce was saying, and looked like she meant it. “Faith is coming too. It didn’t feel right to leave you two all alone on Christmas’ eve.”

She frowned suddenly, as if an idea had just struck her. “Do vampires… do you celebrate Christmas?”

Looking distractedly at the tree – and no, not at the Slayer hanging up ornaments while wearing a lovely little dress, he certainly had no reason to look at the Slayer – he replied with thoughts of long-gone winters.

“I used to. Not recently, though.”

Behind Joyce, someone laughed, a hard, cruel laugh so unlike the person he refused to acknowledge. He closed his eyes and fists tightly, trying unsuccessfully to block the words that followed. He had been hearing them for days already, and when Angel had turned up at his door with a haunted look and babbling senselessly, he had realized that someone was playing both of them. Or something. Whatever it was had managed with frightening ease to bring forth Spike’s cruelest memory and fears; and he knew he was becoming more and more vulnerable to the hateful words spilling from the lips of the long dead woman.

A hand closing on his arm startled him, and he opened his eyes fearing to discover his nightmare was now corporeal. Instead, he found a concerned mother.

“Are you alright?” Joyce asked, and as he lied and assured her he was fine, his darting eyes noticed that now two Slayers were observing him. When had Faith arrived? And why did Buffy look like she had seen a ghost, too?

“Spike, can I talk to you for a minute? Outside?”

Throat tight, he followed the Slayer out, afraid that she had seen and heard. Afraid that, again, she would threaten to stake him but not follow through.

“Who was it?” she asked as the door closed behind him.

“Looked like the other Slayer to me,” he tried to evade with a small smile that faded on Buffy’s dark look.

“It’s haunting you too, isn’t it?” she asked through clenched teeth. “That’s why you’ve been so distracted. Why didn’t you tell us?”

He shrugged, looked away from her, only to be distressed by a ghostly sad smile a few feet behind the unsuspecting Slayer.

“You can’t let it get to you,” she stated as if it were the most evident thing in the world. “You’re stronger than it, and you…”

He interrupted her abruptly. “What’s the point of being stronger? It’s right. She’s right.”

He gestured toward the grinning woman behind Buffy, but when Buffy turned, she didn’t appear to see anything. 

“I am a murderer,” he muttered, “and fighting by your side doesn’t change that. Your mother’s not safe with me, and neither are you. You should have staked me long ago. And you should stake me now before that thing drives me insane and makes me hurt one of you.”

If possible, Buffy seemed even more resolute. Not worried or frightened, as she should have been, but determined to reach him. And as he tried to listen to her rather than to the reminders of how sweet the blood of a Slayer was, sweet enough maybe to reach perfect happiness, he couldn’t help but wonder why she was even trying.

“You think I’d have let her invite you tonight if I wasn’t entirely sure you were incapable of hurting her? You think I’d patrol with you if I didn’t trust you with my back? What are you saying, that I’m stupid? I’m not stupid. I see what you’ve become; I see how hard you try to do the right thing. And I say whatever that thing is telling you, it’s wrong. You were a killer but…” 

“Still am,” he muttered.

“Were,” she insisted. “You are making a difference. You do help. And your help is very much appreciated.”

Frowning, he shook his head. “My help is appreciated? Since when?”

Her mouth opened and closed again without a sound, a perfect imitation of a fish. 

“Ever since you came back,” he continued with a small snort, “you’ve either ignored me, refused my help or treated me like your lackey. Appreciation is the very last thing you’ve showed toward me. So you’ll excuse me if I can’t quite believe you there.”

If he wasn’t imagining things, a hint of red was now tinting her cheeks, and once again, he concentrated on that rather than on the too tempting suggestion to taste the ungrateful Slayer’s blood that only he could hear.

“Since when?” she repeated quietly. “Since William. And no, I’m not making fun of him. Or you. Just saying… You’re guarding my back, as he tried to do. It’s more than even…”

She cut herself short, and Spike would have given a lot to know what name she had been about to pronounce. Angel hadn’t been accompanying her for patrols very often since being cursed again.

“You’re doing good things,” she reiterated her previous sentiment. “It never occurred to me you’d want to hear any encouragements from me. Or thanks. But you’ve definitely earned both.”

For a few long seconds, he detailed her features, tried to decide if she meant her words or was simply telling him what she thought he needed to hear.

“Why do I have this feeling that you’re practicing a speech you’re going to give Angel?”

She shook her head, a cheerless grin touching her lips. “Angel’s not here, is he? I’m talking to you, Spike. No one else.”

More silent staring, and at last Spike slowly nodded, wordlessly pledging not to stop fighting. Buffy seemed to relax ever so slightly.

“They must be waiting for us,” she said with a gesture toward the house. “We’d better get in.”

“Go ahead. I’ll have a smoke and then join you.”

She opened the door and went to step in, but paused to look at him and asked again:

“Who is she?”

As his gaze drifted back to the now silent, frowning ghost who still observed them, Spike let a small smile curl the corner of his mouth.

“My mum,” he replied quietly, thankful that the Slayer only answered with a brief touch to his shoulder.

*****

_As I recall, I never got to finish that fag. Minutes later the Slayer ran out of the house and asked me to come along, explaining on our way to the Watcher’s flat that Angel had visited her, apparently back to his old tricks of using windows rather than doors, and that he wasn’t exactly on the sane side of things. I left her a block from Giles’ place. Didn’t have an invite, still didn’t want one. Told her I’d go check on Angel. She seemed grateful at my offer._

_I went to the mansion, and from there I found him easily enough. Understood immediately what he was waiting for on top of that hill. I can’t say I hadn’t thought of doing it myself more than once in the past couple of days._

_“Always taking the easy way out, aren’t you?” I said to try to snap him out of it._

_He reacted to my words as if they were a physical attack, body tensing and eyes glowing with anger._

_“You think what I’m doing is easy? You have no idea…”_

_“As a matter of fact, I do. Know exactly where you are. Have the same past, fangs, soul and nasty ghosts as you do. Only difference is that I’m not a fucking coward.”_

_I had hoped for a reaction; didn’t have to wait long to get it. A closed fist crashed against my jaw, and I replied in kind. Neither of us had any weapon, so it was just hands and feet, until we were both too tired and bloodied to do more than stay down for a minute or ten and catch a breath neither of us needed._

_“It’s the only way,” I heard him murmur. “I’ll end up killing her if I don’t… Or she’ll have to kill me. I want her so badly, it scares me. Want all of her, body and soul, blood and life. I’m still a monster, and I shouldn’t subject her to that.”_

_“Oh, come of it already,” I snapped, sitting up to glare at him. “She knows exactly what you are. Once in your unlife, give the benefit of the doubt to the person who loves you rather than assuming the worst. Aren’t you tired of running away?”_

_He frowned as he stood, towering over me as I remained on the ground. “What is that supposed to mean?”_

_“What do you bloody think it means?”_

_He never answered. Typical Angel. Although that time he had an excuse, in the form of a breathless Slayer who had found us God only knows how._

_I stepped back and let her have the scene, listening silently as she tried to convince him, with no more success than me, that it didn’t have to end with the sunrise, that he – and I – had been targeted by the First and that the nightmare was over now. And as her words glided in the fading night, it struck me how similar yet different they were from the ones she had offered me earlier. Same affirmation that Angel and I weren’t killers anymore, that we could do good things. But where she had stated her trust in me, she voiced her need for him. Where she had convinced me that I had something to give to the world, she expressed what she wanted him to give to her._

_As I listened her words and to what he replied, I wondered if they were already over without even knowing it. Yes, the improbable snow came and saved the day – saved me too, by the way, because I was too out of it to think of getting inside. I watched them walk away hand in hand – depressing, but at least they were both safe. Only then did I grasp that it was important to me he remained safe, even if he was a bloody idiot._

_But words had been spoken that they couldn’t take back. Hers, methinks, showed that she didn’t really see Angel for who he was, but had that romanticized idea of her first love and first lover that she couldn’t shake off. His words were worse. He had admitted to wanting her blood as well as her body. And if sleeping with her wasn’t going to cost him his soul, the temptation for more would always be there now that it had appeared. Hell, I know it from firsthand knowledge. The question was whether he would run away or give in first._

_Beyond what that night meant for them, and to this day I remain convinced that it was only the beginning of the end, it meant a lot more for me, although I wasn’t aware of it at the time. Seeing an image of Anne, even if it wasn’t really her, made me confront what I consider is my biggest crime – one of the first, and certainly the most unforgivable. And as I did, I started to realize why I craved Joyce’s presence and approval. I started to realize too that the Slayer did trust me. She wasn’t allowing me to live out of pity, but because she valued my help – valued me, in a sense. First steps on a road that, eventually, wasn’t all that long._


	15. Loss

The night was quiet, unusually so. Spike had seen it occur before, more than once, and so it wasn’t really a surprise to him. Something was happening in the town, magic or demon, something that had the humans riled up and ready for riot. Times like that, any sensible demon knew to keep a low profile and stay out of the way until things calmed down. Of course, he was anything but sensible, so he was out looking for the Slayer as he did every night.

His nose led him to the playground where Joyce had found the dead children two nights before. He wished he had been fast enough to prevent her from seeing them. She had been very upset by the discovery, as had Buffy and apparently the rest of the town. When he arrived there, candles and fliers adorned the playground, a silent vigil in the night. For once, Sunnydale’s citizens seemed to have realized that something not completely normal was going on in their town. Spike only wondered how long it would take them to get back to their customary denial.

“She’s not here anymore,” an annoyed voice behind him said.

“Who’s not here?” he played dumb without turning to face Angel.

“Don’t pretend to be stupider than you are. You’re looking for Buffy. As usual.”

It was definitely annoyance that tinted Angel’s words, and as Spike glanced in his direction, the feeling was obvious on his face. Spike wondered if it was finally starting to sink into Angel’s thick skull that his grand-childe spent more time with Buffy than he did himself.

“Just giving help where it’s needed.” Spike pointed out as he lit a cigarette. “Needed and appreciated.”

He couldn’t help grinning at the last part. It was one thing to patrol and kill demons because his soul allowed him to rest better when he tried to make up for his past. It was quite another to have the woman he had a crush on overtly say she appreciated his help.

Crush… Was it still only that? It seemed that the time he spent with the Slayer deepened his feelings night after night. Could he say already that he…

“You think I don’t see what you’re doing?”

Spike was almost startled, having come close to forgetting that Angel was still there. He threw his grand-sire a wary look. His voice was still calm behind the annoyance, but that didn’t say much about Angel’s state of mind. Maybe there were safer things to do than reflect on his feelings for Buffy when the older vampire was around.

“I don’t know what you think you see, Peaches, and frankly, I couldn’t care less.”

Stay here and chat with the brooding wonder, keep patrolling alone, or find Buffy and help her. The choice was easy. Taking a deep breath, he picked up the trail he had followed to the playground. Before he could take more than a couple of steps, however, a powerful hand closed around his forearm.

“What I see,” Angel snapped, and the beginning of anger gleamed into his eyes, “is that you are stalking my girl. I know you and your obsessions, and I won’t…”

“’M not stalking anyone,” Spike interrupted, pulling his arms free. “When the Slayer tells me she doesn’t want my help, I’ll stop offering it. Until then, sod off.”

Angel was now downright pissed off. He stepped right into Spike’s personal space, looking down at him with amber eyes as he practically growled. Spike was more used to seeing the look on Angelus than on Angel, but it only proved once more that it was the same man lurking beyond soul and demon.

“You have no business trailing behind her like a lost puppy. You’re only doing this to upset me, and it’s not going to work. Now back off before I make you regret it. And it’s not a suggestion.”

Spike flicked away the remnants of his cigarette and stood his ground, staring at Angel and making it clear the threat wasn’t affecting him.

“One,” he replied coldly, raising a finger, “I’m not trailing behind her. I’m right by her side. Where you’re not. If you have a problem with that, I suggest you talk to her, ‘cause she made it clear the help was welcome.”

A muscle twitched in Angel’s jaw, and Spike had the sudden certitude that Angel had already talked to her about accepting help from any souled vamp who wasn’t him.

“Two,” he continued, now grinning smugly, “I don’t give a damn why you think I do it. Just because you decided it was useless to patrol and keep _your girl_ safe doesn’t mean I have to think the same, or that I choose to do it to piss you off. Three, it does piss you off even if you won’t admit it straight out, and it’s a bonus for me. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have humans to save. Get back to your brooding.”

As he turned his back on Angel and strode away, Spike was certain Angel’s answer would be a blow, and he readied himself for it – and for striking back. However, he soon had left the playground, and Angel hadn’t followed him. Thoughts of why the older vampire had not reacted more violently to what Angel perceived as a threat to his relationship with Buffy soon turned again toward the Slayer herself, and Spike picked up his interrupted reflection.

Crush? Definitely past that stage. Infatuation? Certainly not, he saw Buffy for what she was, and had a clear idea of her flaws. Moreover, he had an even clearer idea of all the insignificant little things that made her different and special. Love?

Maybe.

Something was telling him that for a vampire to love the Slayer went against everything each of them stood for; it was only his soul talking, nothing else. But something else knew, was certain, that soul or no soul he might have fallen anyway if given the chance of knowing her. She was lovely, quick with words, funny, and a goddess when fighting. She trusted him, relied on him without showing any pity. He had no illusions she would ever have fuzzy warm feelings for him; but he knew just as well that fighting his own would have been futile. If he couldn’t have her, he’d at least spend as much time with her as possible and do his best to keep her safe.

Three hours later, his resolve was seriously tested when he found himself with what he suspected were a couple of broken ribs, tied to a pillar with Buffy in the same position on his left, Willow and Amy on his right, a pile of books under their feet, and angry citizens carrying torches in front of them. The worst, however, was that Joyce was the one who had rendered him unconscious earlier with a blow to the head and was now setting the books at his feet on fire.

*****

Her mother’s hand reached out to touch the rope burns on her wrists, and Buffy instinctively flinched.

“I am so sorry, honey. I’ll fix these for you as soon as we get home.”

Buffy tried very hard not to sigh, but after half an hour of constant apologizing, it was difficult to remain tolerant toward her mom. Giles was apparently thinking the same, because he put down the box full of books he had been on his way to carrying out to the cars, and took his glasses off, cleaning them as he looked at Joyce.

“You need to understand that you are not responsible for what happened,” he said with a twinge of impatience after having said as much at least twice already. “You, and all these people, were under the demon’s influence; there was nothing you could have done to prevent this from happening.”

“Just like when you ate the cursed candy,” Buffy added helpfully.

For some reason that seemed to fluster her mother even more and Joyce blushed as she resumed packing books. Shrugging, Buffy picked up her full box and followed Giles out to the parking lot, coming across Spike who was walking back inside again. They deposited the two boxes in Oz’s van, and Giles told him he could leave and that they would unpack and return the intact books to their proper place in the library the next day. The burnt or soaked ones would go home with Giles. Buffy doubted her Watcher would get much sleep that night and would instead try to salvage his precious volumes.

When they returned inside to pick up the last boxes, they found Joyce once again – what else – apologizing, this time to Spike. He was an image of patient suffering as he stood still and allowed her to check the swollen area at the back of his head. He threw a desperate glance at Buffy, silently requesting her help in pulling him out of Joyce’s maternal clutches. Buffy grinned, wondering whether to help him or watch the ex big bad deal with her mom. A quick look at Giles revealed that the peculiar scene also amused her Watcher, although his enjoyment faded when his eyes fell back on the books.

“Spike, Buffy, if you’d help me with these last boxes, I think we can call it a night.”

Spike seemed immensely grateful for the offered escape and immediately picked up a couple of boxes, wincing noticeably as he bent to them but darting out without a word.

“He’s not leaving, is he?” Joyce asked worriedly. “The wound to his head is still bleeding. He could have a concussion, and we can’t let him leave like that.”

She quickly followed Spike, and Buffy noticed that Giles was frowning as he rubbed the back of his head.

“Want me to remind her you might have a concussion too?” she said, only half joking. “I’m sure she won’t mind having another person to play nurse for.”

Giles stuttered slightly as he assured her he would be fine and picked up one of the last boxes. Shrugging, Buffy took the remaining ones and followed.

“… will be just fine,” Spike was telling Joyce as they approached the car. “Really, don’t worry about me. Please.”

“But it’s my fault you all got hurt!” Joyce insisted, gesturing to the three of them. “I should at least try to make things better.”

Giles closed the passenger door of his car as soon as they deposited the boxes. Clearly, he was preparing to flee.

“I have an enormous amount of work in front of me,” he said quickly. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Buffy. Joyce, Spike, good night.”

Before Joyce could protest, he was already in his car and driving away. Spike looked ready to follow his example, but judging by her mother’s expression, Buffy doubted he would be able to get away as easily.

“You’re coming back with us,” Joyce declared on a tone that made clear she wouldn’t tolerate objections. “I can’t let you go home like this.”

Spike was evidently about to protest when Buffy intervened, taking his arm and pulling him toward the car. “Come on, Spike. You heard mom. Get in the car and she’ll make your ouchies better.”

He glared at her, muttering for her ears only: “You know I’ll heal just fine by myself.”

She nodded, never losing her smile. “I know it, but mom doesn’t and she needs to do something to show how sorry she is. Play the game, would you? It won’t kill you.”

Chuckling at her own pun, she held the car’s door for Spike before climbing after him. No way was she going through her mom’s guilt trip alone if she could have someone else to suffer with her. And the way Spike didn’t dare contradict her mom was just hilarious.

Buffy found things far less funny half an hour later. She had finished helping her mother clean and bandage Spike’s wrists – he had struggled so much when the fire started that the ropes had made him bleed. Despite Joyce’s plea, he had refused to let her bandage his head too, grudgingly agreeing to some antiseptic being applied. Buffy had teased him when he had made a face at the sting of the disinfectant, sticking her tongue out at him when he had growled half heartedly until her mother had sternly told them to stop acting like kids. Now it was Spike’s turn to smirk smugly as she remembered why she usually didn’t bother with cleaning her small cuts.

“But it stings!” she protested as her mom insisted to apply a little more antiseptic to her wrist. She caught Spike with his mouth open, probably ready to make some smart-ass comment, and she gave him a glare that made it clear a stake would be in his near future if he dared say a word. He laughed, but kept quiet.

Once satisfied that they were fine, Joyce ordered them to remain in the living room while she prepared some hot chocolate.

“T’s nice,” Spike commented after a few seconds.

“What is?”

He pointed to his bandaged wrists and hers. “Having someone who cares that much. You’re lucky.”

Buffy was about to point out that if she allowed her mom to know about all her injuries, Joyce would quickly freak out; instead she nodded and smiled as she watched her mom in the kitchen.

“Yes, I’m lucky,” she admitted fondly. “And so are you. Wasn’t it worth getting a soul just so you can be part of the good guys and be pampered by my mom?”

She realized, even as she said it, that he had hinted a couple of times at a pain she could only imagine and that no, this probably wasn’t worth a soul, not by a long shot. But before she could take back her words or quickly change the subject, he returned her smile, with a hint of shyness that reminded her of William.

“Yeah, it’s worth it.”

Joyce came back with warm mugs and settled between them on the couch. It was the first time Buffy shared a cup with the two of them, and she had the strange thought that she could get used to it. It was oddly comforting to have this quiet moment of peace. She listened, slightly amused, as Spike assured her mom that he’d be fine and that there really was no need for him to spend the night in the house. Joyce finally relented, and if Spike seemed relieved when Buffy glanced at him, he also appeared to be very pleased.

As Joyce placed both their empty mugs on the coffee table, Buffy leaned against her, sighing softly when a maternal arm came around to hold her close. By Joyce’s movements, Buffy guessed that her ex-nemesis was also being pulled into a hug. She smiled to herself, remembering the first time these two had met and the notable role an axe had played in that encounter. She was about to remind them of the incident when Spike gasped audibly. Joyce moved back, and Buffy stood, wondering what had him doubled over in obvious pain.

“Spike? Are you alright?”

A few seconds passed before he replied, his voice wavering as he stood.

“Fine. Just fine. Think my ribs are cracked. Should go and feed. Get some rest.”

He was out of the house before either of them could protest. Putting this odd behavior on the count of the events of the night, Buffy didn’t worry about it until he failed to turn up for patrol the next evening.

*****

_I left the house, left them, and ran all the way back to my crypt, cracked ribs or not. When I arrived there, I sank to my knees. Cried until I had no tears left in me. Not sure if they were tears of relief or sorrow. Maybe both. Maybe much more than that. Maybe I cried because it was already awfully clear that I’d been as close to heaven as I’d ever be, and that I had lost all chances to ever be that close to it again._

_So yeah, I almost was roasted. Not the first time, not the last. This is the Hellmouth, after all, and danger is a part of what it means to live here. I don’t hold a grudge against the people who put us to burn; I’d probably have walked right along with them if the demon had affected me too. Anyway, what happened after made it worth it._

_Joyce insisting for me to accompany them home, her concern for my health, the way she fussed over me exactly like she fussed over Buffy, all of it was a treat. She acted with me as if I had been family. As if I’d been her son. It wasn’t the first time; she had been doing it ever since that summer, when I had unintentionally taken Buffy’s place in her life. But it was the first time it was so blatant that I couldn’t convince myself it was only wishful thinking on my part. And, coming so soon after the visit of the ghost of Christmas past, so soon after I had admitted to myself seeing Joyce as a mother figure, it meant a lot._

_I don’t think it would have been enough though, if it hadn’t been for Buffy. She didn’t remind her mom that my vampire constitution was such that I would heal whether my cuts were cared for or not, or that a concussion was not a risk for me. She played the game, helped Joyce patch me up, let me help in return, and at no time did I feel as if she were acting out of pity. She accepted my presence there, teased me in the same breath as she did Dawn, and I lost my last doubts that she might have been lying to me on Christmas Eve. She did trust me, trusted that I belonged to her side of the fight. And that word, belong, sums it all up._

_That night, for the first time in more years than I care to remember, I belonged somewhere. Accepted for who I was, not what others wanted me to be. I had a family, friends, and I wasn’t fighting alone anymore._

_I didn’t need to shag, to reach perfect happiness; I just needed to feel accepted. Loved._

_Love’s bitch to the core._

_That’s how I lost my soul._

_Pathetic, huh?_


	16. On The Hunt

Spike hadn’t slept since returning from the Summers’ house; instead he spent his time pacing back and forth in the crypt and smoking nonstop, wincing every so often as his painful ribs demanded his attention. The sun had never seemed to take more time to set.

There was only one clear thought in his mind. His soul was gone. Everything else was a muddy blur, and it was driving him as insane as the soul had.

The soul was gone, and so were the voice he had dubbed as his conscience and the overwhelming guilt of his many, many kills. He was already envisioning his next hunt, his first fresh dinner in months; and he couldn’t wait for warm, human blood to slide down his throat, couldn’t wait to gorge himself on life until he didn’t feel so hungry and dead anymore. The simple thought of it was making him hard and impatient. As soon as the sun set, he would go out... and that was where it became less clear. He wanted to hunt and feed. He was, however, somewhat reluctant to do so in Sunnydale. He spent his day telling himself that it was stupid, and yet he had already half-decided not to hunt in this town. Elsewhere, yes, but not here.

The soul was gone, and he had no particular desire to hunt down the Scoobies. They hadn’t taken advantage of his weakness to stake him; not going after them was a return of the favor. Still, he knew he shouldn’t have felt as if he owed them anything. Bathtub, chains, treating him as if he was a useful tool and nothing more, all of it should have been a death sentence for all of them. If they were foolish enough to think he was harmless, he ought to teach them otherwise. The hitch was, he couldn’t convince himself to do so.

The soul was gone, and he still had fond thoughts for Joyce. He shouldn’t have. She should have been food to him. Nothing else. Nothing more. The idea of sharing a nice cuppa with her should have felt foreign to the soulless demon he was again. And yet. When he started to hunt again, he would lose that. He couldn’t help feeling sad about it. Another reason to keep his extra-curricular activities discreet.

The soul was gone, and he still loved Buffy. He still loved the Slayer. It was even more wrong than before, because now he couldn’t even blame his feelings on the soul. He still loved the fighter that she was, as well as the woman. Shouldn’t he have hated her, rather than loved, hated that she was the exact opposite of him? Shouldn’t he have used her trust in him to easily bag his third Slayer? He wanted her blood – no, he craved her blood. Yet, at the same time, the idea of killing her was strangely repulsive. If he killed her, he wouldn’t get to see her fight, or talk, or laugh anymore. The possibility of turning her crossed his mind, but he immediately rejected the idea. There was no way to know in advance how much the demon would affect her, and he didn’t want her changed any more than he wanted her dead. There, too, was a problem. If he hunted on her turf, she was bound to find out. However careful he would be, eventually, it would come out; he wasn’t deluded enough to believe it wouldn’t. The customary fight to the death would follow, and not wanting to off her didn’t mean he would let her dust him.

When dusk finally came, his initial repugnance at hunting in the town he had helped protect for the past few months, combined with the need to not let the Summers women know he was killing again, led him to his car and out of Sunnydale. He wasn’t sure as he drove away whether he was leaving once and for all, or if he would only go long enough to feed properly before returning back to the Hellmouth.

Two hours later, he entered Los Angeles. It took him four nights to admit to himself that killing again wasn’t going to be as easy as he had thought.

After that first night in LA, Spike told himself repeatedly that it was normal that he hadn’t fed yet. He needed time to relearn the skills of the hunt, that was all. It would make it all even more exciting when he finally found the perfect prey and sank his fangs deep into a tender throat. He found a safe place to park the car and caught some much-needed sleep on the back seat.

At sunset, he was ready and more excited than ever by the prospect of tasting human blood again. He found a club, full of blasting music and young blood. He settled at the bar and observed the dance floor, searching for the unlucky person who would serve as an appetizer. By midnight, the club was packed, and still Spike hadn’t found anyone to hunt. He had been approached a few times by specimens of both genders, heard one or two really lame pick up lines, been offered a couple of drinks, but still… something was off. That redhead moving seductively to the fast beat of the music reminded him of Willow. The man dancing a few bodies behind her had on one of these awful Hawaiian shirts Harris favored. Longhaired brunette alone at a table – Cordelia. He had left Sunnydale; but apparently, the Scoobies had come along for the ride.

Scowling with hunger and anger gnawing at him, he left the club and went to prowl through dark alleys. He tracked a handful of imprudent humans but for each of these potential prey, there was something that stopped him at the last moment. When he realized he wasn’t going to kill a woman because she wore the same perfume as Joyce, he cursed loud enough to startle her, causing her to run away in alarm. Sunrise was still more than two hours away, but he gave up for the night.

Back in his car, he spent the day recalling his greatest fights and most delicious meals, remembering with as much detail as possible the feel of thick blood rolling on his tongue, coating his mouth, warm from life, spiced by fear. Kills experienced for the second time brought forth no guilt – he killed because he was a vampire and needed the blood to survive, just like humans killed cows or whatever else for the very same reason. The reminiscing, on the other hand, brought an edge to his hunger and the deep-seated decision that he would taste blood no later than an hour past sunset.

And he did. Refusing to even stop for a second and give himself the chance to think of a reason why the woman he was stalking was an inappropriate choice, he closed in on her and attacked, acting primarily on instinct. The bint struggled at first, even pulled a gun out of her coat’s pocket, but Spike still sank his fangs in and took long, deep and delightful mouthfuls of blood sweetened by panic. There was a shout for help in the alley, and Spike dropped the woman before he had drained her. Unwilling to take any risk while he was weak with hunger, he disappeared into the shadows, already in search of his next victim. The night was only beginning, and it would be one of feasting!

He chose his next meals a little more carefully, a process that took time but the hunt itself was a delicious part of the game. He was whistling when, an hour or so before dawn, he checked into a motel using his latest victim’s money. Only while gleefully reliving his night later did he realize something, and this new awareness struck him like lightning.

The first woman had smelled of gunpowder and, faintly, blood. Even before she had pulled out her gun, before Spike had torn into her neck, both scents were on her. It didn’t take a genius to add it up. She had used the gun recently and shot someone. The second victim had smelled of blood and sex, and had been acting very nervously, as if his conscience wasn’t quite clear. The third one, Spike had found in a club and taken him after observing him slip something in a girl’s drink and disappear with her in the restrooms. The last one, the one Spike had left on the ground, pockets emptied, gasping for breath with a hand pressed to his neck and a plea for mercy on his lips, had been selling small white packages in the recess of an alley.

All of his prey had been predators. He hadn’t made the conscious decision of hunting predators and hadn’t realized he was doing it until now.

The second realization was even more staggering. Four times, he had taken blood that night; four times, he had walked away from a still beating heart. He had not finished a kill. He couldn’t tell for sure if the four would live through the night, but if found in time, they might.

He tried to dismiss the whole thing as a fluke, nothing more, and went to sleep convinced that his next kills would be innocent bystanders.

When the next night he stumbled on a mugging and tracked the attacker three blocks rather than pick up the easy meal at his feet, he seriously began doubting that his soulful adventure had left him with all his wit intact. Disgusted, he entered the first bar he walked by, threw a fifty dollar bill on the waitress’ tray and asked for bourbon. She brought a bottle and a glass, and didn’t need to be asked to bring a second bottle when the first had reached the end of its short life.

He tried to blame it on the soul, but after a while, it didn’t work anymore, because he knew quite well that the soul was gone. If it hadn’t affected Angelus after he had lost it, it shouldn’t have affected him either. So it wasn’t the soul. What was wrong with him?

A thick accent ordering whiskey caught his ear, drawing his eyes to the next table, and he was almost surprised to discover a slender guy there rather than the bulky vampire he had expected. His gaze lingered on the man a little too long, and the stranger glanced at him, blue eyes appraising him.

“Whatever you’re thinking,” he said coolly, “I’m warning you, I have a stake and know how to use it.”

Spike laughed at that, because coming from a not particularly very strong looking human, it was… His laugh subsided when he caught the man’s smell. It was off, somehow, not human, but not completely demon either.

“What are you?” he asked, curious.

The guy raised his glass toward Spike. “Thirsty,” he answered and took a drink.

Shrugging the whole thing off, Spike returned to his thoughts. Maybe because of his drinking friend’s Irish accent, his mind slid toward Angel, and he grimaced as he remembered the past. In China, when Angel had returned to them for a while, he had fed on murderers, and it had infuriated Darla. Why in hell was Spike doing the same thing, and of all things, why was he doing it now that he didn’t even have a soul anymore?

“Fucking soul,” he muttered before taking a long drink directly from the bottle. When he put it back on the table, Irish-not-human guy was the one observing him.

“Soul?” he repeated. “Vampire with a soul? That’s not a common thing.”

Spike scowled at him before pointedly ignoring him. He didn’t have a soul anymore, so why was he playing the game and acting as if he did?

The answer came when a bit of light lit the waitress’ hair, giving her blond highlights for just a second. Spike had tried very hard not to think of the Slayer since leaving Sunnydale, but he realized now that she had been there all along, just like the others. The Slayer, who trusted him, who had told him she believed in him, believed that he could do good things. The Slayer who, as far as he believed, was heading straight into problems with Angel, and who would soon enough be free for anyone to seduce. The Slayer who would never blink twice before staking him if it came out that he had been killing.

He finished his bottle, glared at the Irish when he realized he was still watching him thoughtfully, and finally returned to his car. If he wasn’t going to kill anyone, he might as well go back to Sunnydale.

*****

_Buffy was pissed off when I found her the next night; for a while, I thought she knew where I had been and why. But in between rants about how every man whom she dared trust had apparently decided to make her birthday awful, I understood what had been going on while I was away on my little road trip. Turned out she could have used some help, seeing that her Watcher had played a nasty trick on her, Joyce had almost been a snack to a vamp apparently loonier than even Dru and Dawn had been scared half to death. She said if I had been there, I could have prevented her mum from being mixed up in that mess. I didn’t see how I would have done that, but she wasn’t exactly listening to me when I tried to point it out. I did manage to get something across to her – and that shut her right up. Why didn’t she ask for Angel’s help? She didn’t have an answer._

_I paid a visit to Giles, that night, after our patrol. I was upset that he had endangered the Slayer, and I might have had thoughts about expressing my anger physically. I’m sure you’re thinking it’s a good thing I didn’t have an invite. Except, once he opened the door, it struck me that he seemed as miserable and guilty as I had been only a few days before, and all thoughts of making him pay flew out the window. To my shock, he invited me in with barely a hesitation. I understood why when he led the way in and added a new glass to the one on the coffee table, half full next to a bottle of scotch. It’s no fun getting drunk alone._

_He sank into an armchair with his glass and left me to my own devices. I’ve never been one to decline a drink so graciously offered. I helped myself and sat across from him, observing him until he became annoyed with my silent staring and snapped._

_“Just say it, would you? Whatever it is.”_

_I shrugged. “Was just wondering what’s the point of having a soul if it lets you betray the ones you love.”_

_It was clear from his pinched lips and briefly shut eyes that I had pressed on an already open wound. This was, after all, what I had been aiming for._

_“I’ve been asking myself the very same thing,” he replied tiredly after taking a sip from his glass. “I can’t say I’m proud of what I did. Just glad I woke up in time to realize I was wrong.”_

_That was too easy. Way too easy. And I told him so._

_“Wrong? Is that all there is to it? It is wrong to do this and right to do that? Wouldn’t your council of wankers say that you were wrong of stepping in and they were right to put her through that hell? They have souls too, though, don’t they? How can the same simple thing be both right and wrong?”_

_He made a noise, half chuckle half sigh. “I think I’ve had a drink too many to discuss philosophy with you tonight.”_

_I snorted. “Then why did you let me in?”_

_“Because I have a small understanding of what you are going through,” he said coolly. “Not that I’d pretend to compare the extent of my guilt to yours. But I thought you might use a drink too.”_

_I almost told him, then, that the guilt was gone. Except… it wasn’t really true. I did feel guilty about not having been around to help the Slayer and Joyce. All due to Buffy’s little rant, no doubt, but it was still there. Also, there was that inability of mine to completely go through a kill in Los Angeles. I wasn’t souled anymore, but I sure acted as if I were. And yes, the drink was very much needed._

_I had been drunk, when deciding to come back to Sunnydale and keep acting as if nothing had changed. On the way back, I questioned my decision more than once. But that night sealed it. Giles’ actions reminded me it was possible for a souled human to consciously decide to do something he knew was wrong, something I had seen before but never reflected on. If that was possible, what prevented me, a soulless demon, to consciously decide to do what was right? By right, I mean acceptable by human standards, because from the demon point of view I was on my way to doing everything wrong. Matters of perspective. If I hadn’t had ties to humans when I lost my soul, substitute family and friends, I probably would have reverted to values appropriate for a demon. But since I couldn’t see humans as simply food anymore, the only way to adapt – or at least the only one I could see – was to play by their rules._

_Of course, all of it had to remain my little secret. I had no doubt that none of the Scoobies would hesitate to stake me if they ever learned I was soulless again. As it turned out… Well, you’ll see soon enough._


	17. Differences

Upset with Angel’s attitude, Buffy banged the mansion’s door shut behind her and started walking down the alley. An apocalypse was at their door, the Hellmouth would open before sunrise, and all Angel seemed to have to say was that he was willing to die fighting. Well, so was she, but that didn’t mean she wanted to die or spend the night talking about it. Moreover, she certainly didn’t want to hear anything about Angel’s willingness to die. She didn’t want him to talk about that. She needed him to want to live, truly live, as much as a vampire could, and that meant enjoy life and every little thing in it. Including her.

The problem, as far as she could tell, was that Angel didn’t think he deserved to enjoy life. She hadn’t seen him laugh since he had returned. She could count on her fingers the number of times he had smiled, really smiled at her. She had tried, time and again, to convince him that not letting himself enjoy anything wasn’t going to make his guilt any less; but nothing had changed. He acted as if he might lose his soul at the smallest laugh, and it was driving her crazy.

Before she knew it, she was walking toward the cemetery she had dubbed as Spike’s. She had last been there a few days earlier, after he had missed several nights of patrol. She had come to his crypt and, feeling slightly guilty at intruding into his home without permission, had searched for any clue of what could have happened to him.

There had been shattered remnants of bottles in one corner, but it had looked more as if someone had thrown a tantrum than as the result of a fight. No blood in the fridge, only a mostly empty bottle of whisky. Calling his name, she had climbed down the ladder to the lower level, and found only an unmade bed and a few empty storage crates. Her exploration hadn’t helped her decide if he was dust or still undead, and in the latter case, where. He still hadn’t told her much more than having needed to take a breath of fresh air out of town. Vampire humor.

Halfway to the cemetery, she wasn’t surprised when she came across him.

“’Been looking for you all over town,” he said grumpily as a greeting. “’Could warn a bloke when you decide to crisscross--”

“There’s an apocalypse tonight,” she interrupted him abruptly, more annoyed still by Angel than by Spike’s crabbiness.

He blinked, frowned, and shook his head.

“Could have sworn you said…”

“Apocalypse. Tonight. Yes, that’s what I said.”

She went to explain how the Hellmouth was about to be open and that they would need to battle the escaping demons while Willow and Giles worked to close it.

“Sounds like my kind of fun,” he commented with a smirk. “What time does the party start?”

For a second, she didn’t know how to answer. After Angel’s grand declaration, this simple acceptance of the coming fight was almost baffling. But also, strangely, comforting.

*****

If Giles had had a few spare seconds to think during the fight , he certainly would have commented on the glee with which Spike was attacking the Hellmouth demon. As it was, he only reflected on his observation after the Hellmouth had been sealed again.

It seemed that Spike had discovered the purpose they had talked about a few times, and that he found more satisfaction in fighting the good fight than he had ever before. Whereas during the previous summer he had acted as if it didn’t matter whether he won, lost, or died, he was now displaying what seemed like enthusiasm – and also, even more blatantly, recklessness.

The fight now over, the vampire still seemed to be full of energy, wandering about the room, straightening a chair, exchanging a couple of words with Faith, and now coming toward him.

“Nasty scratches you’ve got there, Watcher,” Spike commented, gesturing at his face. “Got any scotch?”

“This is a school library,” Giles replied mildly. “No, I don’t have alcohol here. And I am sure disinfectant would be more effective than alcohol.”

“’T wasn’t for your face,” Spike replied, clearly amused. “Thought we should properly celebrate our victory.”

Giles glanced around the room, observing the battlefield. Books on the floor, furniture broken, Angel still out cold and Buffy worried sick at his side, Willow dozing off where she sat on the steps, Faith cleaning a battle axe… Odd scene, but yes, Spike was right, they had won. They had survived yet another apocalypse. Indeed that was certainly reason enough to celebrate.

“Maybe just a glass,” he agreed with a slight inclination of his head, and Spike returned the nod with a small smile before sauntering off to where Angel and Buffy were.

Very peculiar vampire. But undoubtedly an asset to their little team, if not more. Giles had more than enough reasons not to want to trust a demon enough to call him a friend; yet, he was letting Spike mellow him. More than two years of being around teens nearly constantly had left Giles appreciative of the opportunity to share a drink and a few words with someone old enough to drink more than sodas.

Sighing, Giles settled on making his library presentable, or as much as it was possible. They were all waiting for Angel to regain consciousness and then it would be time to get some rest. It was the first time Angel had been around, and Giles couldn’t help tensing every time his gaze fell on him. He doubted he would ever be able to see him as innocuous again. He certainly never should have let his guard down in the first place.

He had a slight pause when he realized that he was undeniably letting his guard down all over again, with Spike this time, and considered for a second retracting his invitation. Maybe they ought to investigate if they could make Spike’s soul permanent too. He didn’t like to encourage Willow too much about experimenting with magic, but he’d talk to her about it.

*****

Angel opened his eyes, and immediately closed them again. He was in hell, no doubt about it. Only in hell would Spike be standing over him grinning like that.

“Angel?”

The soft call of his name made him revise his judgment. Maybe not hell then, if Buffy was there. He opened his eyes again at the gentle touch on his cheek, and took in his surroundings. The library. The Scoobies – and Spike. Finally, the memory of the fight resurfaced. God, his head was throbbing.

“Back amongst the undead, peaches?”

As he sat up with Buffy’s help, he threw a nasty glare at his grand-childe. Spike had never seemed as irritating and obnoxious as he had been since getting a soul. The barest hint of concealed but real concern in his voice made it even more confusing.

“I was so worried,” Buffy said with a soft smile. “You’ve been unconscious for so long… The longest minutes of my life.”

She pulled him into a hug, and he allowed that simple contact for an instant, relishing her warmth and love. It wasn’t very often that he accepted such gestures. He couldn’t let himself accept them, couldn’t trust himself with Buffy’s safety.

He noticed despite himself that Spike had turned his back on them and walked to Giles at the first sign of affection, and filed that tidbit along with the others. He would have to confront him, and he would have to do it soon. Things couldn’t go on like that any longer.

Quickly, the group said their good-byes and separated; apparently, they had only been waiting for Angel to wake up before leaving for their respective homes. Buffy insisted on accompanying him back to the mansion, and he could do nothing but agree. The walk there was sweet despite his still painful head. Her hand was so small, in his, so warm. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to it.

It was as difficult to be with her as it was to be away from her; and things weren’t getting any better. He had had time to think about it, compare how different everything was now from what it had been before he had lost his soul, and he had come to a rather grim realization. By altering the cursing spell, they had tried to make it impossible for him to lose his soul again – and he was still more than wary about that.

But the alteration had had at least one other repercussion, one he didn’t dare let Buffy, or anyone else, know about. Never before had he felt the presence of his demon so strongly, never had the struggle between it and the soul been so difficult. He had come so close to succumbing to the First’s suggestions on Christmas… And he was still so scared of succumbing now…

That was why when they arrived at the mansion he gave Buffy a chaste kiss and sent her home, rather than ask her to spend the night with him, as he so wanted her to.

*****

Unlike the previous summer, Spike wasn’t coming by to see her every night anymore, and Joyce knew that if he wasn’t there by a certain time it meant he wouldn’t be coming that night. It was alright. She still enjoyed their chats; but with Buffy back, she didn’t need to talk as often as she used to. She only hoped it was the same for him; that he was getting used to his soul.

He hadn’t come by for a few nights, now, ever since that dreadful evening when she had almost caused Buffy, him and these other two innocents of burning at the stakes. She was a little worried that she had scared him away indefinitely, but didn’t dare ask Buffy if he had mentioned anything. Not that she thought Buffy would react negatively – in fact, it was the exact opposite. While at first, her daughter had been opposed to Joyce chatting with Spike, now she was patrolling with him just about every night, if Joyce understood correctly.

Joyce wasn’t too sure what that meant. She thought her daughter had feelings for Angel – and she certainly was far from happy about that – but to see her become closer to another vampire was disquieting. She was quite sure that Buffy didn’t have those kinds of feelings for Spike, or vice-versa, but still… Maybe it was better if he wasn’t around so much anymore.

Despite her beginning of worry, she was pleased to hear him finally knock on her back door one evening. Glad, because he talked about what happened on patrol more than Buffy did, and Joyce craved to know more about what was going on in her daughter’s life. If it meant she had to hear it from someone else, she could accept that.

He seemed strangely quiet, that night, as if he didn’t dare talk too much. She managed to coax out of him that they had fought a battle the previous night, but he repeatedly insisted that she had nothing to worry about. He was a little too insistent, and Joyce realized that he certainly wasn’t telling her everything. Maybe it was better that way.

*****

_It’s always weird to see these things described without Dawn in them. Always makes me want to stop everything and point out that no, that’s not how it happened; there’s a Bit-sized hole in the story. Then I remember. No, she wasn’t there. It’s all bloody confusing, that’s what it is. Could make a bloke insane – but I’ve had enough of that for a lifetime, I think._

_Gotta admit I expected one of them would realize I had changed and wasn’t as gloomy and loony as I had been. Was somewhere between annoyed and relieved that no one picked up on it. Annoyed that they wouldn’t pay enough attention to me to notice what I felt was an enormous change; relieved because I still was sure they’d stake me as soon as they learned about my soulless status._

_Once I got around to thinking about it, I saw that I couldn’t really fault them. When souled, I had kept my gloomiest moments private; and after I lost it, I did everything I could so that they wouldn’t notice._

_The hardest thing was to decide what to do about feeding. After my LA escapade and tasting human blood again, getting back to animal’s pints was the last thing I wanted to do. Still, there wasn’t another choice. I had come back because I believed I might have an opening with the Slayer once she realized she wasn’t going anywhere with Angel, and feeding off humans, even without killing, would undoubtedly have ruined any chance I might have had._

_I wasn’t happy about it, but I returned to pig’s blood. Improved my living conditions a bit with the cash I had stolen in LA by buying a microwave oven to warm my meals – and make them a little more palatable. Almost fried myself when I messed up with the cables to borrow electricity from the town, but it was worth it._

_I can’t say it was easy. I can’t say I’ve never in these days looked at the curve of a neck, fantasized about sinking my fangs in it and revel in the blood I could see beating behind a pulse point. Still, I didn’t. Not because wanting human blood, wanting to feed and kill was wrong in itself. I am a demon and even if I have learnt to see humans as more than cattle, it doesn’t change the fact that killing is what I was reborn to do. It wasn’t wrong in itself, it was wrong in the eyes of these same people who had adopted me. Who had allowed me to belong to something, accepted me as I was. And yes, I am aware of the irony that they accepted me as I wasn’t anymore. As long as I kept acting as if I had a soul, it didn’t really matter, did it?_

_Maybe, they were my soul. Ain’t that bloody poetic._


	18. Old Ghosts

Wide-eyed in surprise, Spike could only stare at the human Faith had just staked by mistake. They had been on their way to take a shot at the Eliminati cult and its leader, Balthazar, when a vamp had distracted them; then this man had come out of nowhere. What had this fool been doing out here at night?

Blood seeped past Buffy’s hand where she was trying to stop the flow. The man convulsed, a few more times, then he was dead. Not as quick as staking a vamp, but just as effective. The scent of blood was overwhelming and Spike had to push back his emerging demon visage. He craved human blood so much that to see it spilled like this and not be able to take advantage of it was maddening.

“We gotta go!” Faith said, on the edge of panic.

Spike could only agree with her and closed his hand around Buffy’s forearm to make her stand. She turned and looked at him, and he winced at her stunned and horrified expression. The Slayer wasn’t used to seeing humans die, that much was clear.

“There’s nothing you can do for him,” he told her. “Let’s go.”

She nodded absently, threw a last glance at the body and ran alongside Faith. Spike remained there an instant longer. He felt nothing for the dead man, having seen enough cadavers in his years, and killed a fair share of them, not to mind them so much; yet at the same time, he was all too aware that, not that long ago, he would have been as horrified by this death as the humans had been. And so, he had sympathy for both Slayers.

If he knew Buffy half as well as he thought, she would feel guilty for this, for not having been able to save this one human even if she saved dozens each night. As for Faith… Hard to tell how she would react, but Spike doubted anything good would come out of this. She had been increasingly daring lately, testing the limits to what a Slayer could do. Her little stunt the night before about stealing weapons and escaping the police had amused him, but this… this was the kind of things that would either make her or break her.

He finally ran after them; and when their scents separated, he didn’t need to think to follow Buffy’s. He caught up with her as she stopped running.

“’T wasn’t your fault.”

She looked up at him, her distress blatant.

“You couldn’t have done anything to save him,” he insisted.

“Then why does it hurt so much?”

He sighed as he raised his eyes to the sky. He was still a little wary of her finding out by simply looking at him that he was now soul free; it was utterly ridiculous, he was sure of it, and yet he couldn’t help it.

“You’re asking the wrong bloke, luv. ‘M not used to being on the innocent side of the...”

His voice trailed off as he turned his head to face the approaching vampire. Angel looked grim, and his expression only darkened when he saw Buffy and Spike standing together.

“What’s going on?” he demanded, gaze going from one blond to the other. “Are you hurt, Buffy?”

She hid her bloodied hand and made some kind of excuse. Clearly, she didn’t want to tell Angel, and if her warning glance was any indication, she didn’t want Spike to tell him either. Angel was many things, but completely stupid wasn’t one of them. He saw she was hiding something, and Spike suspected he would be on the receiving end of a few questions eventually. It wouldn’t be until later though, because as Angel quickly explained, Giles and the new Watcher had been captured and needed rescuing.

*****

Giles’ hand was shaking, and he couldn’t manage to insert the key in the lock to open his door. Without looking at him, he gave the keys to Spike, silently requesting help that was given without comment.

“Up for a drink?” Spike suggested as he pushed the door open and followed Giles in.

“Yes, but not the kind you’re thinking,” the Watcher replied. “Tea seems a lot more appropriate than anything stronger, tonight.”

That earned him an appraising glance from cool blue eyes. Refusing to meet that gaze, he walked to his kitchen and busied himself there, filling out the teakettle, putting it to boil, taking out a cup. His hands were still trembling, however hard he tried to make the shaking stop. He was infinitely grateful that Spike was in the living room, helping himself to Giles’ best scotch, rather than close enough to see, again, how much the events of the evening had affected him.

Giles had kept his calm, when confronted to Balthazar and the promise of torture, ready to hold his tongue even as his replacement spilled all he knew at the first mention of physical pain. But now that the danger was behind him and he was home and safe, painful memories were resurfacing and he couldn’t help flexing his hand repeatedly, as if to assure himself that his fingers were fine, not broken. The irony that the rescue party had included the two vampires who had once been his captors wasn’t lost on him.

He was startled out of his thoughts by the heavy sound of glass on the kitchen counter and raised his head to see Spike filling the tumbler before pouring a finger of scotch into his own cup.

“I told you I didn’t want any,” he snapped.

“You also said you didn’t need anyone to get you home,” Spikereplied with a shrug. “Think you’d have had that door open yet if I hadn’t tagged along?”

The words could have stung as much as a slap, but their calm tone took the edge off. At the same time, however, it made them worse. It felt too much like Spike knew exactly where Giles was, emotions wise, and Giles didn’t like that idea so much; it made him feel too vulnerable for comfort.

“I appreciate the help, but I think it’s time for you to go.”

Even as he took his cup from the counter and turned to his whistling kettle, Giles could feel Spike’s eyes on his back, and it was a struggle not to let the shaking start again.

“Right,” the vampire said after a few seconds. “’Had stuff to tell you, but I suppose that can wait until tomorrow. Or maybe the Slayer will tell you. No rush anyway.”

The words had a hint of bitterness in them, the disappointment of someone whose help was refused. Before Giles could try to explain to Spike that neither him nor any other vampire was exactly the person he felt safest with at that moment, the front door closed and he was alone.

Giles’ tea grew cold on the countertop as he gathered a few ingredients and did the spell he had memorized. He trusted Spike – as much as he’d ever be able to trust a demon – but he had a deeply set feeling that he wouldn’t be able to sleep before his home was safe again.

*****

Annoyed, Angel watched Spike and Giles leave together, the Watcher protesting that he was fine and could get home by his own means, Spike refusing to hear him. Angel couldn’t help feeling twinges of resentment mixed with regret that Giles would barely speak more than two words at a time to him while he apparently had given Spike his friendship. Added to the jealous feelings of knowing Spike and Buffy patrolled together practically every night, and to that strange complicity they had shared earlier, it was becoming too much to bear. He and Spike had a long overdue explanation in front of them.

He walked Buffy home, unsuccessfully in trying to determine whose blood had been on her hand. Not hers, he knew that much, and not Spike’s. What had happened? And why wouldn’t she tell him?

“I’ll tell you,” she promised as they reached Revello Drive. “Just, not tonight, OK? I’m exhausted. And I can’t talk about it now.”

He bit back the comment that Spike knew what was going on while her own boyfriend didn’t. The last thing that would help would be to sound whiny.

They had stopped in front of her house. Angel knew he wasn’t welcome there; Joyce had made it clear on the brief occasion when he had seen her.

“Do you think…” Buffy started hesitantly.

He cupped her chin, turning her face up toward him and stroking her cheek.

“Think what?” he murmured, hoping she was going to tell him at last what had happened.

A smile pulled at his lips when she flushed slightly, stuttering as she said: “I’d really… I mean… it would be nice… Could you spend the night? Or at least a few hours? I just need…”

Too late, he realized he had dropped the smile and removed his hand.

“I just wished you could have held me,” she finished dejectedly, clearly knowing already what his answer would be.

His words cut, yet he had to give them. “Buffy, we can’t…”

Her gaze hardened. “There’s no ‘can’t’ about it. You don’t want to spend the night with me, just say so.”

With that, she retreated into her house, and all he could do was watch her go. It broke his heart; yet at the same time, he knew there was no other way. He wouldn’t take a chance with his soul – and even less with her life.

His mood darker than ever, he directed his steps toward the graveyard that hosted Spike’s crypt. He expected he’d have to wait for Spike, but coincidentally they reached the mausoleum at the same time. Spike scowled when he saw him, but didn’t prevent him from entering his home.

“What do you want?” he asked abruptly as he threw his duster on the back of the one and only armchair.

Angel watched him go to his fridge, retrieve blood from it, warm it in a microwave. There had been improvements since his last visit, proof, if he had needed one, that Spike wasn’t planning to go anywhere anytime soon.

“Whose blood was it?” he asked abruptly, certain that Spike would know what he was talking about.

“’M pretty sure the Slayer doesn’t want you to know,” Spike replied with a smug grin. “Or else, she’d have told you herself, don’t you think?”

His fists closing despite himself, Angel walked deeper into the crypt.

“If you don’t tell me…”

“You’ll what?” Spike interrupted. “Beat me up? What would the Slayer think?”

“That’s the other thing. You’re getting too close to her. I want you to stop.”

Spike snorted as he retrieved his blood from the oven. “And I want blood that taste better than this crap,” he said as he made a face. “Too bad we don’t always get what we want, huh?”

“Spike…”

Spike ignored the warning, and stared at him defiantly. “If there wasn’t room for me, I wouldn’t be getting too close. Nothing stops you from going on patrol with her. Or from helping with research, or whatever else her gang does. You’re not there. Your loss.”

What had only been a suspicion before was now a complete certitude for Angel.

“You love her.”

Even before Spike started denying, his eyes had answered with perfect clarity. Angel felt like hitting him. Felt like turning his back and going away, back to Buffy, maybe. Would she still welcome him, if he did? He couldn’t, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to. It didn’t mean either that he was blind enough not to see that Spike was right. If Angel had given her the attention and affection she craved, there would have been no room for his grand-childe.

“You love her,” he repeated blankly, more to himself that to Spike, who was still trying to deny. The protests finally ceased.

“What if I do?” Spike said after a pause.

Angel shrugged. “You can’t touch her any more than I can. How long until it drives you insane?”

To Angel’s surprise, Spike laughed. A dry, bitter laugh, but still a laugh. “You still like playing the martyr, don’t you? A hundred years older, and you haven’t changed a bit.”

“And you still enjoy a good beating it seems,” Angel retorted, his anger rising.

“Come on, Peaches, admit it. You love playing the drama queen. Woe is me and all that rot. Won’t try to be with Buffy now, even when you’ve been told it’s safe. What is it? Your soul likes to hurt? It won’t let you find some comfort and quiet in the one place where you could…”

Angel lashed out without thinking, a simple slap but hard enough that Spike took a step back at the impact.

“Truth hurts, doesn’t it?” Spike spat as he returned the blow.

Angel tried to control his temper and not start a brawl. It wouldn’t solve anything, no matter how good it would feel. “You have no clue what you’re talking about.”

Spike’s eyes were slowly filling with amber. “That’s always what you say, but I’m thinking I must have hit pretty close for you to react like that. And it’s not even because I know what it’s like to have one now. No, it’s just experience. You were too fucking scared to give us a chance back then; you’re too scared to give her one now.”

“I tried,” Angel growled, coming very close to shifting to his vampire features. “I tried and was sent away like a dog…”

“ _Darla _sent you away.”__

That was all he said, but the unspoken words were loud and clear, the claim that another vampire might not have refused him help. There was a challenge in Spike’s eyes, now blue again. He was waiting for Angel to contradict him, say he didn’t believe him. But Angel couldn’t, because he did believe. He’d never have thought it before, but hearing it said plainly and calmly left no room for doubt. And if that was true, maybe the rest was too. Maybe he was scared. Maybe happiness was only a breath away and safe for all concerned, but he was too scared to reach for it. What was certain was that he had a lot to make up for before he earned the right to be happy. 

"Stay away from her, Spike,” he ordered as he walked away, but even to his own ears the command held no conviction, and he knew Spike wouldn’t obey. 

__

*****

_I would have expected Angel to dust me for simply admitting that I felt something for the Slayer. For his girl. After all, only a few days before he had gone all caveman-like on me because he didn’t like the idea that I patrolled with her. And there, he accused me, threatened me, but it all sounded… I don’t know. Forced maybe. He played the jealous part because that’s what he was supposed to do, no other reason._

_What he didn’t say was more eloquent than what he did say. Just like what he didn’t do with Buffy was more meaningful than any gesture. He had given up, already. He hadn’t admitted it to himself, and he wasn’t anywhere near ready to admitting it to anyone else, but he had given up on being with her. When Joyce came at us a few weeks later, she just gave him the excuse he needed._

_The Watcher… I can’t say it didn’t hurt when I came by the next night and found myself locked out. I had thought I had found a friend, thought that bit of watching while he was being tortured was behind us. Since the spell was clearly directed at me, it put an end to my illusions, especially after the dreadful night I’d had. I understood, abstractly, why he had done it, it was all too clear that being between the hands of vamps and on the point of being tortured again had brought him back to less than pleasant memories. I suppose it helped seal my decision. If things kept on as they were, I’d never be truly and completely a part of the group, and all the patrols and camaraderie in the world would change nothing._

_Maybe it wouldn’t have lasted long anyway and I would have shaken things up eventually. No, not maybe. Probably. I was keeping a tight rein on myself, on my thirst for blood, and it was getting increasingly difficult. Patience was never my strong point. I had decided to wear a white hat because I thought it’d help me win the Slayer; but it wasn’t enough. It was time for things to change._


	19. Games

“It’s not going to work.”

Spike had said as much before, and Buffy was getting tired of hearing it. He disapproved of the plan the gang had come up with to shake some sense back into Faith, but so far he had not offered any alternative.

With a sharp look and a tilt of her head, she indicated that she wanted to go outside. They had been standing so far on the edge of the mansion’s main room, where they could see Faith shackled by the fireplace and hear Angel as he tried to talk to her. Faith couldn’t see them from where she was, it would be better if she couldn’t hear them either.

“It’s our only option,” she told Spike when they had walked out. “We can’t just pretend nothing happened.”

She really wished it had been possible to simply forget, like Faith had suggested it, but she realized it wasn’t possible. Moreover, she knew Spike realized it too, knew he had tried to tell Giles the previous night before finally leaving the task to her. He ought to see there was really nothing else to do. Yet, he didn’t, and he kept objecting.

“And you can’t convince anyone of anything when you have them chained to a wall. It’s not going to work.”

His stubbornness, added to Buffy’s own doubts, was finally too much, and she snapped at him.

“You keep repeating that, but I didn’t hear you suggest anything else.”

Watching her with too cool eyes that seemed to pierce her to the core, he lit a cigarette and took a long drag before replying.

“I don’t have the answer, and neither do you. You know it, you just won’t admit it.”

“Admit what?”

Too caught up in her argument with Spike, Buffy had not heard Angel join them. She quelled the instinct to reach out and take his hand, not sure she’d be able to stomach it if he refused the contact.

“Spike thinks we won’t get anywhere with Faith.”

Angel’s features closed as he stared at Spike. His voice was ice.

“Good thing we don’t give a damn what Spike thinks then.”

As expected, he looked at her when he said this, the barest touch of a question showing on his face. She returned the look blankly. She was more than tired of his hints that she gave too much of her time and attention to Spike, and this seemed like another attempt at making her feel bad about it. Were both of them determined to antagonize her to death? It certainly seemed like it. She didn’t reply to his comment, wordlessly daring him to say more. The silence was broken by a venomous growl from Spike.

“Fuck you both.”

Startled, Buffy shifted her gaze toward him, catching the end of his two fingers salute before he strode away, clearly upset. She called his name, annoyed by his flare of temper, but Angel’s touch on her shoulder brought her attention back to him.

“Let him go,” he said softly, almost pleadingly. “We don’t need him.”

“And we don’t need to lose another ally,” she retorted. “Won’t you ever accept that he’s on our side?”

For an instant, she thought she saw hints of amber glittering in Angel’s eyes, but it was gone before she could be sure. She told herself she had probably imagined it; it was too dark anyway. The alternative, where Angel could become jealous to the point of anger when he was the one refusing to be closer to her, wasn’t something she wanted to consider.

“A soul doesn’t making him perfect, Buffy. You shouldn’t trust him so much.”

Her eyes widened in incredulity that he, of all people, could say such a thing.

“This is ridiculous. You’re telling me that I shouldn’t trust Spike, even souled? Next you’ll tell me I shouldn’t trust you!”

Incredulity transformed in incomprehension as Angel nodded. “I’d say that, but I don’t trust myself for the both of us, so you don’t…”

Raising her hands in front of her in a sign of surrender, Buffy took a step back. “I’ve had enough for now, I think. Thanks for helping with Faith. I’ll see you later.”

Blocking out the sound of Angel calling her name, she walked away, unable to deal with a new round of his self-recriminations. She didn’t know how, but she would have to find a way to prove him he wouldn’t lose his soul, wouldn’t hurt her or her friends again. They couldn’t keep playing this game.

*****

Spike was livid as he left the mansion. Weeks of thinking the Slayer valued his help were wiped away in an instant. Of course, she wouldn’t contradict Angel. She was still caught up in her dream of happily ever after, too blinded to realize it was already over. Nevertheless, until she did realize, Spike was nothing to her, and it was time he accepted that.

If she didn’t want to listen, at least her Watcher would. They were making an even bigger mess with Faith than things already were, and it was time to bring some sanity back into it. Spike couldn’t believe Giles had agreed to the way they were trying to ‘help’ her.

He arrived to Giles’ flat soon enough, and the door promptly opened when he knocked. Giles had his jacket on, as if he had been on the point of going out, but Spike needed to talk to him right away. He took a step forward as he answered his greeting, ready to enter the house, help himself to some liquor and argue his point until the Watcher could do nothing but agree. He was stunned when mid-stride a barrier of thin air stopped him.

Giles gave him an embarrassed look as he walked out, locking the door behind him.

“I was on my way back to the library. Was there something you needed?”

Spike blinked, swallowing his hurt pride. He wasn’t going to let the Watcher see how much he cared about having been disinvited. In fact, he didn’t care about it, not at all. It wasn’t as if he had any reason, or desire, to spend time with a boring guy, who could barely drink more than a glass before losing any coherence. It wasn’t as if he wanted any human friends. He was a soulless vampire. Humans were food, even if he had taken them off his diet.

“Yeah, wanted to say you’re all playing a bloody stupid game. You’re going to drive the bint around the bend, if she’s not already there. How’s that going to help when you have a fully psychotic Slayer to deal with?”

Giles sighed, and Spike felt like doing the same when he took off his glasses to clean them with a handkerchief. That habit of his was downright maddening.

“It’s a delicate matter,” he offered after a couple of seconds.

“And your council of wankers have been dealing with Slayers for how long? Don’t tell me they haven’t anything planned for this kind of mess.”

Giles’ features hardened.

“As a matter of fact, they do,” he said shortly. “But I doubt sending Faith to England by force and locking her up after a small approximation of legal procedure would be of much help to her.”

“But you trust Angel will be able to do better.”

Giles snorted as he walked away. Spike followed him through the courtyard.

“Angel and trust are not words I readily associate together,” Giles commented. “But he believes he can help her, and I see no harm in letting him try. Unless you had a better idea?”

Giles only nodded when Spike did not reply and asked him if he was coming along to the library. Spike declined the invitation, saying he’d join the group later. Thoughtful, he lit a cigarette and watched Giles drive away in his battered excuse of a car. He could not understand why he was being so patient with the man, with all of them in fact, when his efforts at being good where leading him exactly nowhere. He wasn’t even sure what he was trying to achieve anymore.

He had lost his soul, but he still hadn’t resumed killing and continued to fight along side the Slayer. He had managed to fall in love with the girl who was supposed to be his mortal enemy; and even though she had said she valued his help she still ran back to Angel when things got complicated. What was the whole point of this?

He had to prove to her, prove to her little group, that he wouldn’t follow blindly without them ever listening to him. The problem was to find the best way to show them he wasn’t a simple pawn in their game. He thought about it as he made his way to the library, and was still thinking when he crossed path with Buffy as she hunted for the escaped Slayer. She didn’t ask for his help and he didn’t offer it; but he followed her, at a distance, just to be sure she’d be safe, cursing himself all the while. He almost jumped into the fight when she found Faith and vampires attacked them both, but the two girls didn’t need him to sort things out.

When Buffy left, he stayed behind, wondering if he could talk to Faith, maybe succeed where the others had failed. Still pondering how to approach her, he shadowed her, more than a little surprised to see her walk with determination to the town hall. He had heard what the two Slayers had discovered about the Mayor’s involvement with vampires, but couldn’t believe that Faith would be foolish enough to confront him without back up.

It didn’t take him long to find which window was the Mayor’s office, and he soon knew exactly what Faith was doing. He thought of immediately warning Giles or Buffy, before remembering he wasn’t welcome in the first’s flat anymore, while the second didn’t care about what he had to say. Still bitter about both facts, he pondered his options.

When Faith walked out of the building, he had made his decision. If a Slayer was joining forces with the current Big Bad, why couldn’t a Master Vampire do the same?

*****

Mayor Wilkins was still contemplating the day’s latest developments and whether it had been a good idea to add the Slayer to his payroll, when for the second time his office’s door revealed a much unexpected person. He wasn’t particularly alarmed at the vampire’s presence here, after all nothing could harm him until his ascension. Not alarmed, but curious.

Ever since Trick’s unfortunate attempt at getting rid of the vampire, the Mayor had kept a discreet surveillance on him. He knew where his lair was, knew that he patrolled each night with the Slayer, knew that he had spent a few nights in Los Angeles and hunted there while he didn’t hunt in Sunnydale. His guess was that Spike had a plan of some sorts that involved having the Slayer’s trust. The only reason he wasn’t dust yet was that the Mayor believed he could distract Buffy Summers and keep her attention away from other possible threats.

“Mr. Spike,” he acknowledged as the vampire slouched on the chair across from him. “To what do I owe the honor?”

“’S just Spike,” the vampire drawled. “And you owe the honor to the fact that I’m bored.”

“Bored?” the Mayor repeated, slightly amused. “With two Slayers in town, I’d think that any Master Vampire would have enough to occupy himself.”

A nasty grin curled Spike’s lips. “The thing is, I could kill them. Easily. They trust me, and would never see it coming. But that’d be too fast. There are a few things on Summers’ tab, and it’ll take a lot of pain to pay it up.”

More interest than amusement, now that his words confirmed the Mayor doubts.

“Pay what exactly?”

The vampire shrugged. “Cursing me with a soul. Treating me like a lapdog. A few things of the same kind.”

“A soul?” the Mayor repeated, curious. It was certainly unusual, but it also explained a lot.

“Got rid of it,” Spike added with a dismissive gesture.

And this explained the sudden trip to LA and the kills that had followed.

“So, seeing how you’re now employing a Slayer, I thought you’d want someone to keep an eye on her for you.”

Inspecting his nails as he thought, the Mayor considered Spike’s words. He knew about Faith, which made both of them liabilities. The question was whether their worth was greater.

“Why would I want to keep an eye on her?” he asked idly. “Fine little lady.”

“Yeah, fine little killer, too. She told you she offed your man?”

The vampire’s casual tone contrasted with the intense look in his eyes. The Mayor absorbed the information, his perspective on his newest employee changing slightly. Maybe he ought to keep an eye on her. Moreover, she could keep an eye on Spike in return. It would work quite well.

“What kind of payment would you require for your services?”

Spike’s smile widened a little more.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll find me very reasonable.”

*****

_And the waters muddied a little more._

_Usually, the equation is easy. Evil vampires eat clueless humans. Good little girl kills the evil vampires, and every now and then, they have one good day and kill her instead. Boring Watchers record who eats whom and when. Not much interaction between vamps and Slayer beyond kill or be killed._

_Sunnydale… well that was a whole other story. First, there was not one but two Slayers. According to Rupert, it was the first time something like that happened. It could have meant easily killing more vampires, and for a time it did, but eventually it turned out not to be such a good thing. So yeah, Faith might not have been the finest candidate ever to become a Slayer. Girl had issues, and getting freakish powers one day out of the blue certainly wasn’t the best thing that could have happened to her. Still, I have this feeling she could have done better if she hadn’t had to compete with Buffy. To be told that you’re the one and only and then discover that you’re not really unique… Ask Peaches, he still has the mental scars._

_So. Two Slayers, one Hellmouth. You’d think they would have sent her to the Cleveland one or elsewhere. But no, the wankers didn’t. Instead, they sent one inexperienced Watcher for both girls, one who made up for his young years with an extra dose of stuffiness. And they tried to get rid of the one they both trusted. Only tried, thankfully. God only knows what would have happened if they had completely gotten rid of old Rupert._

_Bad enough as it was, two Slayers fighting on opposite sides, it wasn’t all. In addition to the Hellmouth’s common lot of vamps, demons, and wannabe ascending Mayor, there were also two vampires fighting the fight. The good one. The one where you save people, and don’t kill them. The exact opposite of what vamps are supposed to do. One of them doing it out of the guilt filling his soul. The other playing the game because he’d do anything for love. Talk about messing up the cards._

_I had crossed the line once when I had decided to help them. I saw an ex-Watcher cross it too, then a Slayer, the other way around. I crossed it again. It’s all a big game, and we all wear more masks than we can afford. It’s just a matter of keeping straight who you are, and what side you are ultimately on. Not always easy._


	20. His Lady

Spike stared at the redhead in leather across the room, and before Xander and Buffy could reach her, he knew. She was a vamp. Willow had been turned.

Except…

It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be Willow. As he had been walking with the two humans to the Bronze, he had been amused by the Slayer’s ramblings about her best friend and how they had had a small argument earlier that day. If Willow had been human at midday, there was no way she could have become a vampire now. Simple math. There hadn’t been enough time. At the same time however, it was she, there was no doubt about it when she walked by, striding toward the exit, and he caught a whiff of her scent. Different, but underneath it was still Willow.

The Slayer and Xander came toward him, both of them stunned and crushed.

“That wasn’t Willow,” he said bluntly. “Well, yes, it was, but not the Willow we know. There wasn’t enough time for her to be turned and then rise.”

A hint of relief appeared in Buffy’s eyes, and Spike wanted to smile. Not smile to mock her – although she should have known better than believe that enough time had passed for her friend to be turned – but simply smile because his words – _his_ – had comforted her.

“So… you’re saying our Willow is somewhere out there and fine?” she asked, hesitant but hopeful.

He nodded. “Can’t be sure, but probably. Find her. Take her to the library. Get Giles too. I’ll go and try to get the newly fanged one there too; then we can sort it out.”

Spike felt an instant of wonder when she agreed with his plan, and Xander didn’t object. Couldn’t they had paid attention to what he was saying earlier? Before he committed himself with the Mayor? It would certainly have made things a bit simpler.

Shaking his surprise and regret, he rushed out, following the vampiress’ vanishing scent, catching up to her as she was fighting a couple of vamps. The first one was dust in a second, the second she played with a little longer, until he admitted to working for the Mayor. A quiet curse escaped Spike’s lips at that, which drew Willow’s attention to him. She staked the vamp she had been playing with, then stood and looked at Spike.

“You work for the Mayor too?”

He snorted. “I work for no one but myself.”

“Then why are you following me?”

The words were deceptively calm, but the threat behind them was made clear by the way she played with the stake in her hands.

“Just curious,” he replied with a shrug. “I know a human named Willow, looks an awful lot like you. She was fine and breathing just a few hours ago, from what I’ve heard. Then, here you are, leather and fangs.”

“Another me?” she murmured, her brow furrowing in confusion. Soon enough, understanding crept on her features. “Another me, like there is another Xander.”

“Care to satisfy a bloke’s curiosity and tell me where you’re from?”

A petulant pout settled on her too red lips. “A place much more fun than this. This is a dumb world. In my world there are people in chains, and we can ride them like ponies.”

Spike couldn’t help laughing at that. More fun than the Hellmouth? Was it even possible? Where else could a vampire appear out of nowhere and cast a new light on their human self?

“I think I know someone who might help,” he said, stifling his chuckle. “Little witch, friend of mine. I’m sure she’d be delighted to get to know you.”

The redhead looked wary, and Spike couldn’t fault her. Wherever she was from, it had to be a shock to pop into a different world, knowing nothing or no one, and then have a perfect stranger offer to help. He lit a fag as she took her time to consider him and his offer, but never took his eyes off her. He had no doubt she was dangerous.

“Who are you?” she finally asked, and from the way she held herself, relaxing ever so slightly, Spike was practically certain that she would accept his help.

“The name’s Spike.”

A flicker of recognition lit her gaze, and Spike wondered if he had made a mistake giving her his name.

“The Master mentioned you, a couple of times. Said you were a pain. Also said you were family.”

Spike tilted his head, thinking hard and trying to read between the lines. The only Masters who might consider him family were either Angelus or old batty himself. Better not try to guess which one; it might antagonize Willow if he got it wrong.

“Family,” he agreed with a tight smile. “So, you coming to see that witch of mine?”

*****

The library’s doors swung open, and Buffy’s gaze flickered between the Willow in fuzzy clothes leaning against the counter, and the one clad in leather now frozen in surprise two steps inside the room. There was a short scuffle between the new Willow and Spike, who had walked in with her, as well as a few heated words including colorful curses and accusations of betrayal.

When the shock had worn off and Buffy could do more than stare, it was too late for her to intervene, as Spike had the vampire Willow in a tight hold, both hands secured behind her, and was marching her toward the book cage.

“Rupert?” he called out as he struggled to push the other vampire in. “Keys might be helpful right about now.”

A few seconds later, they were all standing by the cage observing the strange creature inside, but none of them was more captivated than Willow. Both Willows actually. They weighed each other with mixed feelings of incredulity, their identical faces showing awe and revulsion, until the undead Willow haughtily looked away. Buffy noticed the hard glance she threw Spike, but he barely paid it any mind.

“I think… I think I might know what happened,” Willow stuttered, blushing brightly. “I helped a girl with a spell. It has to be what caused...”

She gestured toward the cage, and in response the vampire inside hissed a few well-chosen words. The human Willow was startled, and Buffy wrapped an arm around her shoulders and led her back to the table. Giles and Xander came along; only Spike remained standing by the cage.

“What kind of spell was it?” Giles asked, a twinge of disapproval in his voice. Buffy had the strong feeling that her Watcher would be in a lecturing mood about the dangers of magic once they had cleared up the whole mess.

Willow explained what the spell had been, what she had seen while it happened, visions of her vamped self and a bleak world; but soon, Buffy’s attention drifted off to Spike and the other Willow. They were talking in hushed voices, but she could still hear them and was too curious to resist.

“I can’t believe I trusted you,” the vampiress spat.

“Why not?” Spike replied, and he sounded amused. “I said I’d take you to a witch and help you. It’s exactly what I did.”

“You took me to the Slayer! What kind of vampire plays nice with the Slayer?”

A pause, and the vampire Willow came closer to the cage, standing just behind the door as she considered Spike.

“Unless you’re like my puppy,” she said thoughtfully. “Do you have a soul?”

Spike chuckled. “Puppy? Is that what you call Angel? I’ll have to try and call him that. And no, I am not like him. Not at all.”

“Buffy? What do you think?”

Startled, the Slayer returned her attention to the conversation going on at the research table. The others were looking at her, apparently expecting her reply, but she had no clue what the question had been.

“Think about what?” she asked, apologetic.

Giles gave her a slight shake of head. “What shall we do with this vampire? Stake her and be done with it, or try to send her back where she belongs? As much as it pains me to even think of it, she’s not the Willow we know, and...”

“But it’s not her fault,” Willow interrupted in a meek voice. “She didn’t ask to be a vampire, and she’s just doing what she must. Maybe we could… I don’t know… give her a soul, maybe, and…”

“No,” Spike cut in.

They all turned their eyes toward him as he approached the table.

“If you think giving her a soul is being kind to her, you’re wrong,” he said blankly. “You might as well stake her, it’d be less painful.”

There was a short silence, and then Xander cleared his throat before saying in a wavering voice: “It’d be majorly wigging to stake her. I mean, it’s not our Willow, but it’s still Willow, and… well, I’m not volunteering for it.”

Judging by the uncomfortable faces all around, no one was up for the task, and neither was Buffy. The last thing she needed was the memory of staking her best friend, even if it was only a demon wearing her face.

“So, no staking,” she said decisively. “We’ll send her back wherever she came from, and let the people there deal with her.”

She couldn’t help grimacing at that last part. She wasn’t happy at all with the idea of turning a vampire loose; but after all, she had enough vampires to take care of in this world without taking on those from other dimensions, too. As they made plans to look for this Anya who had started everything and to gather the needed spell ingredients, Buffy noticed that, once more, Spike had drifted back to the cage and was talking to the vampire there. 

An odd thought struck her, and she wondered if Spike was feeling lonely, if he missed the company of other vampires. She dismissed the idea immediately. If that had been the case, he would have been more friendly with Angel and sought out his company instead of patrolling so often with her.

*****

Angel was at the Bronze, hoping that Buffy would come by, yet dreading that she would show up with Spike trailing behind her like an enamored puppy. He hadn’t told her about Spike’s feelings for her, instinctively knowing she wouldn’t believe him and would attribute his words to jealousy. In truth, he was jealous. Terribly so. How could he not be, when his grand-childe was spending so much time with Buffy while Angel couldn’t dare to?

She eventually arrived, and Angel was glad to see she was with Willow, Xander, and surprisingly Giles, but Spike was nowhere in sight. He joined the four of them and listened as she briefly explained who they were looking for and why. By coincidence, the girl was there, and they soon escorted her out after a few murmured, but convincing, threats.

Angel’s good mood disappeared when, in the back alley, they joined Spike and a vampire wearing Willow’s features. He could hear them talking, as the group approached, could hear the redhead suggest that he forget their plan of sending her home and work instead on making this town more vampire friendly. The invitation was clear, and it covered much more than killing together. Spike simply shook his head, his answer freezing Angel.

“Very tempting,” Spike said, “but I’ve got to decline. A special lady of mine would be too disappointed if I did.”

There was no doubt in Angel’s mind who that ‘special lady’ was. And it was suddenly blindingly clear that Angel had been wrong. Spike wasn’t going to be content with admiring Buffy in silence and helping her however he could. He was going to fight for her, try to win her over, loophole or not, boyfriend or not. It was time for Angel to put an end to it.

*****

_Have to admit, I knew he was behind me when I said that. So yeah, I took a cheap shot at Angel. Sue me. The look on his face when I turned to them was absolutely priceless. He was wide-eyed for an instant, then he blinked, and his eyes narrowed as they slowly turned amber. If his eyes had been stakes…_

_There was nothing behind my words. Or at least, I didn’t believe that there was anything. I was pretty sure that if she had gotten any hint that I was “evil” again, the Slayer would have staked me without more than a second’s hesitation. But then I looked at her, standing right there, oblivious that my words had irritated her brooding lover, and I saw… something. Curiosity, certainly, but that wasn’t all. A bit of hurt, too. Almost as if she was feeling betrayed. By me? By what I had said? I had no clue at the time, and it’d be too easy to give the Buffy of my memories feelings and thoughts according to the Buffy I know now. Maybe I’ll ask her, some day._

_Whatever it was, it resurfaced a couple of weeks later. Our Slayer picked up an extra power on the way, and thought she’d try…_

_What?_

_I don’t care that we’re not there yet, it makes more sense to tell them about this bit now rather than later on, what are you…_

_No, it’s not your story; it’s mine. Get a fucking clue, would you? And don’t you…_

_Oh fine, no need to get your knickers in a twist. You don’t want me to say Buffy tried to read my mind to find out what lady I had been talking about, so I won’t talk about it. Happy?_

_Right. So, Buffy’s wasn’t the only one who reacted to my little half-lie. So did the big brooder. I think he might have realized at that point that maybe I wasn’t going to keep looking at his girl without making a move on her. Took him long enough. I’m still surprised he didn’t stake me. So many occasions, so many reasons, and he never tried. I wish I knew why. Doesn’t mean I’ll ever ask him though._

_His way of reacting was to start patrolling with her every night, hoping I’d stop coming along like I had before. You know me. The best way to make me do something is to expect the opposite. For a few nights, the three of us patrolled together. It could almost have been hilarious, if I hadn’t been all too aware that Buffy was wishing she were alone with Angel. She never told me to get lost though, or anything more pleasant. I think she was upset with Angel’s not so subtle comments about my presence there. And she got much more upset later when Angel played at being soulless and got a bit too close to Faith. It was fun to see, for the most part, but I also ached for her._

_Anyway. To come back to that night…the girls had to do the spell in the place where our fangy friend had appeared. On our way there, Anya kept claiming that she had been a powerful vengeance demon, and she’d curse us all when she got her powers back, and so forth. It didn’t strike me immediately, but later on I remembered talking to her, and that’s how I eventually made the link between her and Dru. But I think I already told you about that. The spell was done, our new friend was sent back home, and that was the end of it._

_Almost._

_I went by the town hall later that night, just to know what that thing had been about the vamps working for the Mayor trying to off Willow. He wasn’t happy that his plan had failed, and even less so when I declined to do the job, pointing out that if I had wanted her dead, I wouldn’t have waited to do it, and reminding him that I wanted them all to suffer before they died. He got over it, eventually, and came up with a new plan. Rather than striking at the Slayer’s best friend, he decided to play with her boyfriend. I could have told him from the start that it wouldn’t work, but he never bothered to ask._


	21. Soft Lies, Hard Truths

By midday, Faith dropped by Spike’s crypt, and he was extremely surprised to see her there. For one thing, he had never told her where he lived or, even less, invited her to visit. For another, he had thought, until then, that she ignored everything about his association with the Mayor. Seeing her stride in as if she owned the place, flirt with him, and then finally deliver her message that their boss expected him at the town hall by nightfall quickly corrected his assumption that the Mayor had trusted him without reservations. The secretive smiles and weird looks Faith had given him the handful of times he had seen her since they had both crossed to the other side now seemed clearer.

The message, as well as the messenger, irritated Spike. If he went to meet the Mayor at sunset, it meant not showing up for patrol with the Slayer and his idiotic grand-sire. Angel might believe he had won that battle and that was hard to accept. However, he was aware that refusing the invitation might not be in his best interest; it would be an incredible loss of time not to follow through with his plan with the Mayor now beginning to make his move. So, irritated or not, he went to the rendezvous.

Unlike his previous visits, it wasn’t very late, so there were still people around. No one questioned his presence however, and he reached the Mayor’s office without even being asked his name. He couldn’t help but wonder if anyone else had such easy access to the Mayor, or if someone had given his description to the security personnel. Whatever the case, it was interesting to notice.

When he entered, Faith was already there, idly playing with a stake under the patient and fatherly gaze of the Mayor. Spike quelled the bad feeling her playing with the weapon stirred in him, and instead focused on the fact that the Mayor had absolutely no reason to want him dust. At least, none yet.

“Spike!” the Mayor said, jovial. “A pleasure to see you. Perfectly on time, too. Punctuality is such an important things, and more often than not…”

Affecting a nonchalance he was far from feeling, Spike sprawled in the chair in front of the desk and interrupted the Mayor as abruptly as he dared.

“Time’s an important thing, too, and the night isn’t getting any younger. Let’s get on with it.”

The Mayor had a small chuckle. “Yes. Of course. Faith dear?”

An inclination of the old man’s head, and Spike was ready to stand and fight for his life. The Slayer however merely went to open a door, and stood back to reveal a tall… something. Not human, definitely, because a human didn’t have serpentine eyes like this, but it was hard to tell much more than that as the creature’s body was wrapped in long Bedouin’s robes.

The show only lasted a second, too fast for Spike to do anything more than stand and take a step back from the chanting creature. He didn’t like magic in general, and he liked it even less directed toward him.

“He is free of any soul,” the creature announced as it stopped its spell, or whatever it was it had been doing.

The Mayor nodded, seeming pleased. “Good. Now you two can run to Angel and…”

“What the bloody hell was that about?!”

Giving Spike an indulgent look at his outburst, the Mayor waved at Faith and the robed creature. The first walked out of the office, while the other disappeared into thin air, and Spike was soon alone with his boss.

“There’s no reason to get upset,” the Mayor said patiently. “I wouldn’t be where I am today if I hadn’t learned to make sure my allies are who they claim to be. You told me you had lost your soul, and there was no disrespect intended by my checking that information. Now that I did, I will be able to give you missions that are more sensitive. Do we understand each other?”

There was no doubt in Spike’s mind that the only possible answer was affirmative. If he had nothing to hide, then he should have no objections to his story being double-checked. He sat down again, nervous fingers drumming on his thigh, and tried his best not to scowl as he waited for his orders.

*****

The previous evening had been long and painful for Buffy. She had hoped that a good night of sleep would mend things, or expose it all as nothing more than a nightmare, but sadly last night’s revelation had not disappeared in the sunlight.

She couldn’t really say that Faith’s betrayal was a surprise. Since what had happened after the other Slayer had accidentally killed a human, Buffy had hoped, sincerely hoped, things would get better; but she always had doubts that Faith would ever fit into their group again. The real surprise had been to hear in her voice and see on her face the depth of Faith’s malaise. Buffy had never realized until hearing it to what degree Faith resented her simply for being alive and having friends around her.

Then, there was Angel. His act as Angelus had been perfect. So perfect that, even though she knew it was only an act and had insisted that he do it when Giles had suggested it, Buffy had been scared for a minute or two that it had been more than playing a role. Almost. She knew him enough to see through the masks, didn’t she? She hoped she did.

Still, it had hurt to see him cozy with Faith. It had hurt even more than remembering what a bastard Angelus was; and there was the problem. She couldn’t get the image of the two of them, side by side, out of her head. Things had been difficult for Buffy and him, since his return; but a few days ago, he had finally started patrolling with her and she had regained her trust that things would get better between them. And now… an evening’s worth of acting, and her fears were back at full strength. Fear that he didn’t love her as much as she thought he once did. Fear that it wasn’t enough for a vampire and a Slayer to be in love to guarantee a happily ever after. Fear that Angel’s slow withdrawal was only his way of making the break less painful.

She went to the mansion after school, with the goal of reassuring herself that she was worrying for nothing. She didn’t get much relief. Flat comfort words, still too much distance between her and Angel, and then, just as she was about to leave, murmured words that caught her attention.

“Now you know…”

Frowning, she looked back at Angel, wondering what was his point. They knew about Faith’s new allegiance, that had been the goal of all of this, but why would he point it out again now?

“You know how I feel when you spend so much time patrolling with Spike,” he finished after a slight hesitation, his voice completely blank.

Her eyes widened in surprise and shock. She left the mansion with a glare and her hurt pride and heart. Without a second thought, she directed her steps toward Spike’s cemetery. He hadn’t showed up the night before, and she had intended to stop by his crypt later. She wanted to see if he had left them again, and if not inform him that Faith had switched sides. She wasn’t going to change her plans in reaction to Angel’s words. If her boyfriend was jealous of her friendships, it was his problem. Not hers.

*****

It was the middle of the afternoon when Spike jerked awake from a deep and dreamless sleep, his rest disturbed by… what was it? A presence. Tingles down his spine. He took a deep breath, allowed his eyes to adjust to the faint lightning of the lower level of his crypt, and had no trouble finding the Slayer standing by the ladder. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the Slayer he wanted to see.

“Slept well?” Faith asked as she started walking around the room, inspecting his possessions before finally coming to sit at the foot of his bed.

“Well enough,” he grunted, annoyed at having been awoken. “What’s the message?”

“Message?” She repeated with a smile, turning her face toward him. “No message. I just thought I’d drop by. Say hi. See how you’re doing. If you… need anything.”

He merely raised an eyebrow at that, wondering how far she was going to push things. It wasn’t the first time she had hit on him; and while he could easily admit that, judging from the way she moved on a dance floor, she had to know pretty well how to use her body, he was not interested. Once upon a time, he might have been. Dru had never cared much whom he fucked as long as he came back to her in the end. Things were different, now. He would have given a lot – just about anything – to taste a Slayer’s fire and love, to feel her around him, above him, beneath him, have her in his bed and his life, but it wasn’t this Slayer he wanted.

“So, do you?” she asked when after a few seconds he still hadn’t answered, turning around to kneel on the bed. “Need anything? Want anything? Anyone?”

Her eyes pointedly slid over his form, covered to the waist by a flimsy sheet, and he was suddenly very aware of his nakedness. She didn’t stop at simply looking, and placed her hands on his legs, running them lightly back and forth, getting higher and higher by the second. His body responded to her words and touch, but his mind refused to listen. It had been a long time since he had found comfort in another body, but he wasn’t that desperate yet.

“Not needing anything,” he replied coolly as he pulled away and stepped out of the bed. He picked up a pair of pants, doing his best to ignore her eyes on him. “And I think you’d better go home. Daddy dearest might get upset if he knew what his little girl is up to.”

“’M not the only one up to something,” she replied with a naughty grin. “And he’s my boss, not my father.”

“Yeah, well, he’s my boss too, and something tells me he wouldn’t appreciate…”

“Who cares!” she cut in as she came to him, hips swaying a tad too much to be natural. “He’ll never know…”

He caught her hand just before it made contact with his bare chest, and fixed a cool gaze on her.

“Not interested, ducks. So do both of us a favor and don’t insist, alright?”

Her eyes hardened as she pulled her hand out of his grip. She took a few steps back, never breaking eye contact.

“How did you lose it?” she demanded coldly.

“Lose what?”

“Your soul. Who did you fuck to lose it?”

He caught himself just as he was about to claim he hadn’t fucked anyone. What or who he did was none of her business, and he bluntly told her so. She observed him silently for long seconds and finally nodded.

“’Should have known,” she commented with a shrug. “She did it once, makes sense that she’d do it again. Is that why you changed sides? Because she used you and now she’s back to her dear Angel? Must have stung, huh? Or did you…”

“You’d better leave, Faith,” he interrupted with a snort. “Until now, you’ve been amusing, but there’s only so much of your ramblings I can take before I get bored. ‘D hate to have to explain to daddy that his girl tried to double-cross him.”

“He’d never believe you.”

Standing straight and tall, she suddenly looked like the Slayer she should have been. Proud and outraged at a vampire’s antics. Ready to kill.

“He would,” Spike replied calmly, with the barest touch of amusement. “After all, that’s why he asked me to keep an eye on you. Same as he asked you to keep an eye on me. Didn’t you know?”

Outrage turned into confusion, then denial. A muttered curse, a resounding ‘your loss’, and she was striding away. Shaking his head, Spike found his fags and lit one, sitting on the edge on his bed and wondering if it was worth trying to get some more sleep, Faith already out of his mind.

He hadn’t smoked half the cigarette that Buffy’s voice called his name from the upper level, and a smile found its way to his lips.

*****

“Spike?”

There was no answer, and Buffy walked farther into the crypt. She looked around, noticing a television in front of an armchair that looked older than she was. She called his name again, a little louder, supposing that he might be in the lower level. She was right, because his voice came up through the ladder hole.

“Yeah, heard you, stop hollering and give me a sec.”

The second turned into a minute, and as she settled on the armchair he finally appeared, hair tousled by sleep, cigarette hanging from his lips, red shirt unbuttoned, and barefoot. Under other circumstances, she might have appreciated the sight. She would have, certainly, if she hadn’t had a boyfriend already and hadn’t seen Faith come out of the crypt moments before. Spike’s appearance, obviously fresh out of bed, was worrisome, on more than one level.

“So, what’s going on?” he asked as she still was observing him silently. “You don’t come by so often. Must be important.”

“I was wondering why you didn’t show up last night. If you had left town again or what.”

A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “Just got tied up with a friend, and when we were done I figured you’d be finished with patrol. Dropped by to say hi to your mum. She didn’t tell you?”

Buffy frowned, before remembering that she had barely seen her mother in the morning, as they were both late. She itched to ask more about this ‘friend’, but came back instead to the important news, made even more important by Spike’s most recent visitor.

“Faith is working for the Mayor,” she declared abruptly, and wasn’t sure whether she needed to worry when Spike’s only reaction was the widening of his eyes.

“Is she, now,” he murmured, pulling deep on his cigarette. “That’s good to know.”

Buffy tried to convince herself that she was only asking the next question for purely Slayer-related reasons, but in the end she had to admit that her interest was more than professional.

“Would you tell me what she was doing here five minutes ago?”

*****

_Knowing everything that I now know, I figure I should have told her the truth then. Told her I had joined the Mayor too, but only so that I could spy on him for her and the gang. Told her I had lost my soul, but was trying to play by her rules, again for her, so that she could be proud of me, and who knows, maybe…_

_Well, I didn’t. Caught by surprise, I made some excuse about Faith having always been hot for me, and how she wanted to jump my sexy bones, or something along those lines. I might have slipped in there some mention of Angel and his problem with intimacy. Earned myself a punch to the nose for my trouble. That was bloody stupid, I know. She told me often enough._

_Might have made our lives so much simpler if I had told her the truth right there and then. Yet, at the same time, we’d have missed a few interesting things._

_Yeah, I learned my lesson; I’m not going to spoil anyone about what’s going to happen next. Happy?_


	22. Thoughts

All the way to the cemetery, Buffy repeated to herself that she was only doing what was right and fulfilling her Slayer duties, nothing more. She had to assure herself that Spike was still souled, and that he hadn’t been frolicking with Faith and gotten to the ‘perfect happiness’ point, and…

Whom was she kidding? She wanted to know if Faith and Spike had slept together, period. Whether souls and happiness had been involved was secondary. She would have had some trouble explaining why she wanted to know, though. Maybe because she was afraid Faith was using Spike? Right. Like the ex Big Bad needed her protection.

At least, he would never suspect a thing. She was going to direct the conversation about Faith and see exactly what he thought about her, whether he had less than pure thoughts where she was concerned, if he really had rejected her offer, as he had said, or had fallen in bed with her. Somehow, the thought that he might have been with Faith felt almost as much of a betrayal to her as Angel’s acting had. Both feelings were completely unreasonable, Buffy knew it, but she couldn’t help it.

She had asked Angel to play the game, and still she hurt from it every time she remembered it. And now, ever since seeing Faith walk out of Spike’s crypt, she was uncomfortable with the idea that they might have done more than talk. She didn’t have any claim on Spike, and she certainly did not see him as more than a friend; so where did that feeling of treason came from? Maybe Angel’s unfair jealousy was contagious.

The discovery of her brand new power had been an unexpectedly pleasant surprise. When Giles had told her she would acquire an aspect of the demon she had slain the previous night, she seriously had worried that she wouldn’t be able to leave her house before Halloween because of her brand new horns, tails or scales. But this… Being able to read people’s thoughts? A bit strange at first, disconcerting even, but she was beginning to see the possibilities it opened up to her.

She could get an answer from Spike, whether he wanted to give it to her or not. Then she’d get back to school, finish her day there, and then swing by the mansion to peek into Angel’s mind… Or maybe not. She wasn’t sure she was ready to face her boyfriend’s thoughts yet. She would have too, eventually, but not so fast, not when she still needed to learn to control her ability. And that was another reason to go see Spike, she told herself. Practice made perfect. She was getting better at it, picking up more and more; but she still needed control.

Another question she wanted an answer to was where had Spike been the previous evening. He never had promised to patrol with her every night, but she couldn’t help wondering where he disappeared on the rare times when he didn’t show up; and since he wasn’t volunteering an explanation, she’d have to find one herself.

As before, the question of whether to knock at his door or not nagged her for an instant. Useless, because in all probability he would be downstairs and sleeping at this hour, but it still felt rude to enter unannounced. She finally compromised with herself and knocked before entering without waiting for an answer.

*****

Spike wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or annoyed. On one hand, he had been awoken – again – way too early. On the other, it was always a pleasure to see his Slayer, and even more so when the big brooder wasn’t around to spoil his fun with dark looks and silent threats.

He had managed to acquire a second armchair, and offered it to Buffy as he settled on the other one. With a slightly doubtful grimace that amused Spike, she sat down on the dusty seat, looking a little uncomfortable, although he couldn’t have said why she was.

“Shouldn’t you be in school?” he asked when she was done commenting on how nicely he had fixed up the crypt for visitors.

“I was,” she confirmed with a small nod. “And I’ll get back there soon. I just thought I’d drop by and say hi. See how you were doing.”

Suppressing a frown, Spike pulled his cigarettes and lighter from his shirt’s front pocket. Buffy was many things, but certainly not a good liar. Why was she really there? And why was she looking at him with such attention?

“I’m fine,” he assured her. “How ‘bout you? You seem… preoccupied.”

Her protest that she was fine was a bit too quick, a bit too vehement, and only furthered Spike’s suspicions that something was going on.

“Since you didn’t show up for patrol last night, I was wondering what happened to you. Did you go out with friends? You must be lonely, here by yourself all day long…”

Her voice trailed off, as if she expected him to pick up the sentence. He took a deep drag on his cigarette, then obliged.

“Not so lonely. Had some company show up. Unexpected, but still nice.”

His lips curled around his fag while she looked confused for an instant before finally understanding that he was talking about her.

“Oh. Well, aren’t you getting tired of old little me? I mean, it’d be normal if you went and made new friends.”

Once more, she seemed to be expecting something from him, and Spike was at a loss as to what exactly. But if she was offering him an opening, he would have to be a fool not to use it to plant some seeds.

“Don’t think I could get tired of you,” he admitted, hoping his voice didn’t sound as pathetically unsure as he felt. “So I’ve no need for new friends.”

The barest frown was her only reaction to his words, and Spike wondered worriedly if he had said too much and ruined everything before he had even had his chance.

“You almost sound like Faith,” she said with a forced laugh. “With the no need for friends bit. Although like you said, she was apparently looking for some new excitement.”

And again, a question that wasn’t really one. Spike couldn’t understand what she wanted from him, what game she was playing. These random sentences made little sense, and the way she was looking at him, as if in deep concentration, was certainly odd.

“Is something wrong, Slayer?” he asked cautiously, wondering if she had any clue about the loss of his soul and was trying to make him admit everything.

She shook her head, seemingly disappointed.

“No, everything’s fine. I’ve got to get back to school.”

Spike felt like protesting that she had only arrived, thought about offering refreshments – though he didn’t have much to offer her. In the end, he did neither and simply walked her to the door, watching her disappear into the sunlight and mentally counting how many hours would need to pass before he could see her again.

*****

A hard look distorting her features, Faith watched, immobile, as Buffy walked out of Spike’s crypt. She had watched her walk in not even twenty minutes before. Why would the Buffy skip school to visit a vampire in the middle of the morning? Why this vampire, when she had her own waiting for her in a much more pleasant house?

She was convinced that Spike had lost his soul by sleeping with Buffy; and Faith had no doubt about what had just taken place in that crypt. Her fellow Slayer might play at being a good girl, but deep down, Miss Perfect had a weakness for the sexy undead blond, no doubt about it.

That visit didn’t simply cast a new light on Buffy; it also did on Spike. His little act about spying on the Scoobies for the Mayor had been well played, but it was clearly nothing more than that - an act. Faith couldn’t wait to tell her protector that his pet vampire was still on the other team’s rolls. And to think he had threatened to denunciate her as a spy!

Rehearsing her announcement in her head, she made her way to the town hall, and strode into the Mayor’s office unannounced. He seemed slightly irritated when she interrupted a meeting with some boy scouts group or something, but she didn’t pay it much mind. He had after all requested that she warn him of anything suspicious on Spike’s part in the best delays.

She was disappointed when he didn’t immediately ask her to go stake the vamp. But as she listened to him, she had to admit that he was right. They could still use him, and it would be much more fun to have him staked by his own side.

*****

_I thought about it all day long, but still couldn’t understand what Buffy’s visit had been about until I went to join her for patrol that night. She was nowhere to be found, and I eventually drifted to Revello. Joyce was in the kitchen with Dawn when I arrived there. Both of them crying. The little bit threw herself in my arms, and for a moment I froze, unsure about what to do, the nastiest thought worming itself in my heart. I held Dawn tight, probably too tight, the same words running over and over in my mind._

_Buffy was hurt._

_That had to be why both Summers ladies were so upset, and the idea was killing me. What had happened since I had seen her in the afternoon? Why hadn’t I been there to help her? How much was she hurt… Throat tight, I could do nothing but question Joyce with a look as I kept running my fingers over Dawn’s hair, trying to soothe both her and myself._

_“Buffy was… hurt,” Joyce confirmed my fears after taking a deep calming breath._

_She explained what she knew, then, about a demon contaminating Buffy the previous night – and I cursed myself for not having been there, for the charade I was playing with the Mayor with practically no interesting result so far. She told me about the Slayer’s newly acquired power – and I cursed myself for not understanding what she had been doing that afternoon. Then, swallowing back her tears and fears, she murmured that it was driving her daughter insane – and I cursed myself some more for good measure._

_Trying to sound as convincing as I could, I brushed my bit’s tears away and told her that her big sister would be fine and kicking in no time. I didn’t promise. I was trying to convince myself as much as her. When they had both calmed down a little, I used my knowledge of the kitchen to prepare some hot chocolate. I could tell Joyce was amused, despite being scared, that I’d go back to cocoa at a time like this, but she was grateful too. I made an extra mug, and softly asked Joyce if I could bring it to her eldest. She refused at first, and explained that Buffy felt worse when people were close to her. I told her my thoughts were safe from the Slayer; she eventually relented._

_I entered Buffy’s room a little hesitantly. It was the first time I was setting foot in there, and for an instant I looked around, taking in the décor, the butterflies on the walls, the plush toys, the posters, the pictures of her friends. Nothing at all hinted this girl was anything but normal. And then I forgot everything and simply concentrated on her._

_Buffy looked terrible – or so I discovered once I managed to convince her to let go of the pillow she was holding over her head. She looked terrible, but she was still my beautiful Buffy, and I hurt to see her like this. The mug of hot cocoa forgotten on a side table, I brushed the air off her face while she blinked to adjust her vision and look at me. Her skin was feverish._

_“Spike,” she acknowledged my presence, and I smiled at her._

_“Hey kitten. I hear you’ve picked up a brand new super power?”_

_I realized I was still stroking her forehead and started to pull away, but she grabbed my hand and pulled it back._

_“Cool,” she murmured. “Feels nice.”_

_A slow blink and she tilted her head slightly to the side, looking at me intently._

_“I still can’t hear you. Why can’t I hear you?”_

_“Vampire, luv. One of the perks that come with the fangs, or so I’ve been told.”_

_She muttered incoherently under her breath, and I lost my smile. She wasn’t completely there with me, and I tried to draw her back._

_“Anything you’re interested in, Slayer? You can just ask, you know. I can’t promise I’ll answer but…”_

_“Did you sleep with Faith?”_

_Even after her hints from the afternoon, it still took me by surprise; and for a second, I stared at her, mouth and eyes wide. Then I did the only sensible thing. I laughed. She frowned for a moment; until I clarified my laugher by saying that it was the most ridiculous idea I had ever heard. I guess I could have found a nicer way to say it, but she didn’t seem to mind too much. Especially since, she was already drifting on to other voices besides mine._

_She was tired, I could tell that much, and I wasn’t distracting her anymore from whatever she was hearing. I told her to try to get some sleep, and she nodded, barely, before closing her eyes. I might have brushed my lips to her burning forehead. Or taken her hand and held it for a while. Might. One thing is sure, it wasn’t long before I went and found Giles._

_I spent the rest of my night tracking down another one of the demons with Angel. He wasn’t happy about the help; but once I made it clear I didn’t give a damn about what he thought, he stopped being an ass. We found our demon pretty quickly, but it took us a bit longer to take it down. When it was time to bring Buffy her morning tonic, Angel once again became a jealous prick. I didn’t argue – much – and let him go there alone. I knew I’d see Buffy again soon enough, and I had no particular wish to watch Angel get to play the boyfriend while I stood there and felt useless._

_In any case, I now knew that she cared enough about me to wonder who I was sleeping with, so I was pretty confident about the future. Confident that she would only care more once I showed her how helpful I could be with the whole Mayor business. It didn’t occur to me that she might have wanted to know about Faith because she worried for my soul. I also refused to even think of the possibility that she might believe I had betrayed her by joining the other side._

_Made it even harder when the other shoe dropped._


	23. Proofs

The Scoobies had finished locking down the whole cafeteria except for the front doors; undoubtedly, the Mayor would be arriving very soon. Spike was restless, unable to stop the wheels turning furiously in his head.

Earlier that night, he had helped the gang steal the mystery box that apparently was so important to the Mayor. Spike hadn’t known about it until offering to help the gang, and he was wondering if that meant the Mayor hadn’t needed his help with it, or hadn’t wanted him to know. His assistance to the Scoobies hadn’t amounted to much; Buffy had assigned him to protect the two Watchers, who hadn’t needed his protection in the slightest.

He was all too aware that she had suggested that role for him in order to keep Angel and him away from each other. Also aware that if he had persisted in accompanying her, the brooding wonder, and Willow, he might have prevented the latter from being captured. And, if Willow hadn’t been captured, they would be destroying the Mayor’s pretty box instead of waiting for him now.

The whole hostage thing wasn’t what was upsetting him, though. He was confident that the exchange would go fine – each group had something precious the other one wanted; there was no reason to shed blood. The trouble was that for the first time, he would be in the same room with both the Scoobies and the Mayor, each side believing he would fight for them. He wasn’t sure what the Mayor’s reaction would be to the fact that Spike hadn’t warned him about the Scoobies’ planned attack. He was even less certain as to which attitude to adopt. Not being there at all would have been easier, but Buffy had insisted, saying she needed all the back up she could get.

The lights went out. Spike could still see fine, but he had to fight back his instinct to shift to game face. He didn’t want to show any sign of being on edge, especially in front of Angel. The doors opened, two vamps entered, followed by the Mayor and Faith, the latter holding Willow. Buffy stepped closer to the Mayor, and Spike tensed, ready to jump in at the first hint of a threat toward his Slayer. For an instant, his eyes met Faith’s, and he frowned at the cruel smile that bloomed on her lips. Something was up, but what?

*****

Willow was safe.

Just for that, Buffy could have smiled, but she didn’t dare, not so soon, not until the Mayor and his clique were gone. It was her plan that had put her friend in danger, and she’d do anything she had to in order to get her back in perfect health. If that meant returning the Mayor’s box, she had no problem with that, Wesley be damned.

It could have gone perfectly fine; but of course, it didn’t. The Mayor first took a few easy shots at her relationship with Angel, pointing out with barely hidden glee that Angel would never be a day older while Buffy would age in front of his very eyes. Buffy had made her peace with that, and it didn’t bother her. At least, not too much. But she knew Angel, knew how he thought, and could already hear him mournfully say that she deserved better than him, more than he could offer. She didn’t want better or more, simply wanted him to give her all he could, just like she was ready to give him all she was. And it was time he understood that, before things between them got irremediably broken.

By itself, the reminder that one of them would live to see the other die wouldn’t have been so bad. The fact that they wouldn’t grow old together was nothing new. But what the bastard said next…

Faith had just let go of Willow to take the box Angel was offering her when the Mayor spoke again. His words sent the room into speechless shock.

“I’ve got to admit, I was a tad disappointed by your behavior, Miss Summers. I thought you stood for all that is good and pure, and there you are, lover to two vampires, both of whom lost their soul at some point because of you; yet, you still keep them close. I could almost understand about Angel, if he really does have a permanent soul now, but to keep a soulless killer in your little group? Do you even know he offered his services to me? I don’t understand how…”

He was abruptly interrupted by the intrusion of Snyder and two police officers. Then the box opened, and Buffy needed to concentrate on fighting. Until it was over, though, questions ran through her mind. Was it true? Had Spike really lost his soul? The Mayor had lied when saying she had slept with him, so he could have lied about the rest. He had to have lied. She couldn’t believe it was true. She didn’t want to believe it, didn’t want to be told that, all these months, her trust in Spike had been misplaced. She had been betrayed too often already, and couldn’t go through that again. Not when she had been relying so much on Spike. Not when she hadn’t questioned his help in months. Not when his presence on patrol had become as much of a comfort – if not sometimes more – as Angel’s.

*****

The cafeteria doors swung close, leaving a few humans and a couple of vamps alone once again. Angel’s first reaction was to turn toward Spike and stride to him, throwing him to the floor before the younger vampire could react.

“What the fucking hell is wrong with you?” Spike spat, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Are you still souled?”

A mere second of silence followed the growled question, but it wasn’t Spike who answered.

“You can’t truly believe what the Mayor said.”

Momentarily leaving Spike, Angel’s gaze found Buffy. Her face expressed the same incredulity her voice had.

“You can’t truly believe,” she repeated coldly, “that I’d sleep with anyone who isn’t you.”

Again, the room was quiet. Angel wanted to believe her more than anything, but a nagging doubt wouldn’t leave him. Spike had changed. Angel wasn’t sure when it had happened, but Spike wasn’t as depressed as he had once been, he was fighting better; he simply was more like he had been before the curse. It could be that he had simply adapted to the soul, as Angel had believed until now. Or it could be that he had lost it. And if that was it, then how?

Spike was now up again, scowling.

“Can’t you see what’s happening?” he said spitefully, gesturing to the door through which the Mayor had disappeared. “That guy just tried to have all of us turn against each other. Standard tactic to weaken your opponents; have them fight amongst themselves.”

“Without putting in doubt Buffy’s faithfulness,” Wesley said primly as he slowly approached, the stake in his hands all too obvious, “I’m sure we’d all sleep better if we did a simple truth spell to assure ourselves that…”

“Sod that. I’ve proved myself enough, I’m done jumping through fucking hoops.”

Spike cast a defiant look across the room, making eye contact with everyone, finishing with Angel and Buffy. Whatever he saw in each of them, he apparently didn’t like, because he strode off, head held high and almost visible waves of fury coming off him.

“I think…” Buffy started, voice shaking ever so slightly before she could control it. “I think he may have really lost it.”

Angel said nothing, but inside, his soul was screaming that she was right. Yet, at the same time, he had a hard time believing it. Spike had changed in the past months, yes, but at no point had Angel smelled human blood on him. If he had been killing again, Angel would have known, he was sure of it. So, what was going on? And how had the younger vampire reached perfect happiness?

*****

Morning was well on its way when Giles finally returned home. He had spent the last few hours examining the few sheets Willow had stolen from the Ascension books. The news so far was rather grim. It was even grimmer when combined with the Spike situation.

Even as he had been taking notes about the Ascension, Giles had been pondering Spike’s soul status. It was hard to believe the vampire could be soulless and still help them, patrol with them, without the barest hint so far that he wanted to hurt them, or anyone else for that matter. However, now that he had given it some thought, Giles could easily see the changes Spike had gone through, could even remember remarking to himself how well the vampire had adjusted to his soul. Well, maybe he hadn’t adjusted at all. Maybe…

He smelled the cigarette smoke as soon as he entered the courtyard, and immediately found the shadow leaning against the wall, his face faintly lit by the red glow of the cigarette. Instinctively, Giles retrieved the stake from his jacket’s right pocket, and the bottle of holy water from the left. Maybe he should have accepted Buffy’s offer to accompany him home, but his pride had gotten in the way.

“Watcher,” Spike greeted him coolly, still immobile against the wall save fort he movement of his fingers bringing the cigarette to his lips and away.

Never taking his eyes from the vampire, Giles continued to his door. Unlocking it required some juggling with his weapons and keys, but only when he finally pushed the door open and stepped in, out of reach, did Spike move. Flicking what remained of his cigarette away, he approached the door, and Giles had the urge to close it before he reached the threshold. Ridiculous, of course. Spike didn’t have an invitation into his house anymore, and he wouldn’t have waited for Giles to walk in if he had wanted to kill him.

“’Have to talk to you,” Spike said grimly.

“Yes, it seems so. About what?”

It felt a little weird to stand inside and talk to someone outside, but the alternative was unthinkable. He would not play with fire and invite him in.

“About what? What do you think?”

Giles took a deep breath. Time to test his conjectures.

“I think you lost your soul sometime on Buffy’s birthday. Which is either a coincidence, or some echo of Angel’s curse being broken last year.”

A raised eyebrow was Spike’s only visible reaction until he spoke. “Interesting theory, but not accurate. Lost it a few days before. How did you know?”

It had been one thing to think the vampire had lost his soul, but it was still very different to hear it confirmed. Giles fought to keep his voice even.

“You changed,” he said calmly. “Started to meet my eyes when you never would before. Other little things you said or did. I didn’t know what it meant until tonight, though. Why did you play that act for so long?”

Spike’s brow furrowed even as his features darkened. Not anger, because the demon’s eyes would have accompanied anger. Nevertheless, if not anger, what did he feel?

“It wasn’t an act. You said I could choose to do good and I chose. I chose when I had the soul, and I chose again after losing it.”

That, Giles had trouble believing, and it certainly showed on his expression because Spike shook his head and said:

“Right. Never thought you’d believe me. That’s why I’m here. Have an offer for you.”

“What kind of offer?”

Had he been less tired, Giles might not have had this conversation at all. He might have tried to stake Spike, or at the very least would have closed his door on him. However, he did listen, even though he was doubtful, and let Spike say what he wanted to say.

“I know you lot. I’d bet you’re thinking about resouling me, and you’d already have done it if you hadn’t all been too tired.”

He paused then, as if waiting for confirmation. Giles didn’t say a word; but yes, they had talked about it.

“I don’t want to go through that again,” Spike continued when it was clear Giles wouldn’t reply. “If that’s what you plan on doing, save yourself the trouble and just stake me. ‘Cause I swear I’ll take a walk in the sun if you curse me.”

Giles still didn’t let himself respond.

“And with the Ascension coming soon,” Spike finished, obviously disappointed by his unresponsive audience, “you could use all the help you could find. Including mine. So here’s my offer. Don’t do a souling spell on me. Do a truth one, like the other ponce said. ‘M sure you can find one in your musty books. Bewitch me so I’ll tell nothing but the truth, and ask me what my plans are. Ask me if I intend to hurt any of you. Then you’ll know you can trust me.”

Stunned, Giles watched him and wondered why Spike was willing to go that far for them to accept his help. Everything Giles knew, everything he had experienced, told him that it was incredibly dangerous and stupid to believe that a vampire, any vampire at all, was harmless. And yet…

Yet, he had taken Spike in after he had been cursed. Had let him go. Had talked to him about redeeming himself. Had offered him money in exchange for his help on patrol. Had invited him into his house, shared drinks with him, talked with him, in one word, trusted him. And some of it, he had done while Spike was soulless.

The question was could he still do it now that he _knew_ Spike was soulless. Spike was offering him a way to find an answer.

“Tomorrow afternoon,” he said tiredly. “We’ll come to your crypt.”

Spike merely nodded before leaving, and Giles was left to wonder about what would happen if they didn’t like the truth Spike would tell.

*****

_When the wanker suggested it in the cafeteria, I wouldn’t have agreed for anything in the world. But once I thought about it, it wasn’t such a bad idea. I knew what kind of risk I was taking with that truth spell, but I was ready for it. Better that than being cursed again – and I have no doubt that’s where they would have headed without my refusal. Better, also, than leaving town and being away from them, from her, when I knew I’d have missed her so much._

_No, there was no way around it. I needed their trust, needed to be a part of the group again, and that was the only answer I could come up with at that time. Seeing how much I hate having magic done on me, you can see how desperate I was._

_As the Watcher had promised, they came the next afternoon. Him, the Slayer, the little witch, her wolf, and Harris. All armed. It reminded me of that night when they had come to the mansion to curse Angelus. Like then, they were there to gain an ally through magic, but they were ready to fight if it didn’t work. Out of them all, the Slayer was the hardest to read. I wished I’d had that little mind reading trick of hers then, it certainly would have been helpful._

_Except for the Slayer and her Watcher, they safely remained standing in the sunlight pouring through the open door. Harris made some remark about not agreeing with playing my game, and Willow answered by pointing out that the Ascension was coming in very few days and they needed all the help they could find. Giles eventually put an end to their ramblings, and Buffy never said a word about it._

_Before I agreed to the Watcher’s request that I sit down in the armchair placed in the center of the crypt, I laid out my rules. I was doing this for them to be able to trust me, but there were limits to what I was ready to reveal. First, I had them assure me of how long the spell would last; then I announced my one restriction._

_“I will not tell you how I lost my soul,” I said, my eyes going from him to the Slayer and back, “so don’t ask.”_

_She looked ready to argue, but Giles agreed, his eyes frank but cool. “We’re here to know how far we can trust you. How far you want to trust us is up to you.”_

_I sat down, paid attention to the spell only until I was sure it wasn’t the soul curse, and then closed my eyes and tried to remain calm. I had practiced my answers to what I was certain they would ask, and I could think of a thousand ways this could go wrong. But the simple fact that they were ready to test me was reassuring, as it showed how much they needed all the help they could gather, including that of a soulless vampire._

_Once the chanting and smelly herb part was done, Giles produced a sheet of paper from his pocket. Trust him to have a list. The first question was easy enough, simply requesting my name. I was left wide-eyed and startled when the simple ‘Spike’ I had intended to voice became the full name I had worn as a human and had never spoken aloud since. The spell was working, alright, no doubt about that. I wasn’t too happy to see Giles scribbling on his paper, and had already guessed that he would research the name I had just given him, but it was too late to take it back._

_One by one, he read the names of the Scoobies, Joyce, Dawn, even Angel, and asked if I planned to hurt any of them. All names received a negative answer. I’ve got to admit that I was somewhat surprised myself about not wanting to hurt Angel._

_Then came the fun part._

_“Have you at any point worked for or still work for the Mayor?”_

_That one, I had practiced, and the words that came out were exactly the ones I had intended to say._

_“No. I did not work for the Mayor. I pretended to, but it was always an act. I thought I could be the gang’s spy, like the Mayor was using Faith to spy on you. I never found out anything that was worth breaking cover. I guess he didn’t trust me as much as I had hoped he would. All for nothing.”_

_There were murmurs from the Scoobies at that, but I paid them no mind, and kept my attention on Buffy and Giles, knowing that the final judgment would come from them, and no one else. They shared a look, Giles’ eyebrows asking a silent question, Buffy answering with a short nod. Next question._

_“Did you kill any human since you were given back your soul?”_

_Now that question, there, that was the breaking point. I had an answer, practiced and embellished – within the limits of truth, of course – but I knew that it would be the one that decided of everything. Either yes or no would have been a lie. I could only go for the third option._

_“I don’t know.”_

_I watched the Slayer blink, ever so slowly as if she was replaying my words in her mind, and when she looked about to speak, I continued._

_“I went to LA, after I lost my soul. Hunted a handful of wankers. Drug dealers, rapists, murderers. I hunted human predators, just like you hunt demon ones, Slayer. I drank from them. But when I left them, every single one of them, they were alive, and as far as I know they still are. I haven’t hunted or killed any human since.”_

_I saw her frown, when I compared what I had done to her own calling, and I knew she’d never agree aloud that it was the same thing. It didn’t matter so much though, or at least I hoped it didn’t. I just wanted her – wanted them – to admit that sometimes you need more than white and black to paint the world._

_“Why not?”_

_I was surprised to hear Oz speak, for he had been silent so far, but not so surprised by what he was asking. He knew about grays, he was in that fringe himself, although at the opposite end of where I stood, and it made sense that he questioned my motives._

_“I’ve made a choice,” I answered, speaking directly to him. “Every month, you choose to cage yourself not to hurt anyone. I cage myself every day. Every minute.”_

_“It’s hard to believe a vampire would choose not to kill without a soul.”_

_My gaze drifted to the Slayer. It wasn’t a question, and for that I was grateful. I would have hated to be compelled to tell her why I had made that choice in front of the others._

_A few more questions, all of them asking in different ways if I intended to kill again, received the same answer. No, I wasn’t going to kill. When I think of it, it makes me wonder. For me to be able to say the words, I had to deeply believe them. Which meant that the demon part of me had to agree with them. Had I truly renounced fresh blood? Was I that convinced that I’d get the girl and be rewarded for giving up on fresh meals? Apparently, I was. For better or for worse, I was._

_The jury finally gave its decision. I was deemed worthy of being their ally, under the provision that I wouldn’t hunt humans at all, even wrongdoers. I could tell that they were still wary of me, but they accepted that I had been telling the truth. I suppose it helped that each of them could recall at least one instance of me helping to save their lives._

_I was somewhat surprised, when they left, that the Slayer stayed a little longer. I wasn’t being interrogated anymore, so I stood, walked around, grabbed my fags, all the while watching her watch me from the corner of my eye. I could tell she had more to say, more to ask, maybe, but she was hesitating._

_“Why don’t you want to tell us how you lost it?” she finally asked, carefully wording the question._

_I pondered my answer. Telling her how it had happened might have allowed her to see how special and important she was to me. But I wasn’t ready to reveal so much about my feelings for her, for her family. I still felt like it had been a terribly pathetic way to reach perfect happiness. So…_

_“I might tell you. Some day. But not now.”_

_She nodded, as if she understood, and I could only wonder if she really did._

_“Did you and Faith…”_

_“You already asked,” I interrupted her, “I already answered. It’s still no.”_

_Her cheeks seemed to heat at that, in anger or in embarrassment, I couldn’t have told. She seemed ready to leave, or almost. There was so much I wished I could have told her, so much I knew it was too early to say._

_“Your invite to my house was revoked,” she announced with the tiniest bit of uneasiness. “I’d like you not to visit mom and Dawn anymore. At least for the time being.”_

_If not for the last part, I would have protested and refused to agree. But the fact that she was setting a limit to her own request left me hopeful, so I simply nodded._

_“I’m not sure I’d be comfortable enough to patrol with you anymore, so it might be better if you patrol on your own. Maybe you could drop by the library every couple of days and we’d see how you might want to help.”_

_I didn’t answer to that, drowning my objections into a deep pull on my cigarette. I already knew that, come nightfall, I’d be out to find her and patrol with her. Whether she liked it or not._

_She looked like she had more to say, but after a few seconds of silence she directed her steps to the still open door and the light spilling through it. She seemed to glow as she stepped in the sunlight, and I think it might have been at that point that I decided to find a way to walk in the sun with her. I needed to see her in her element, and that need felt almost as pressing as blood._

_She turned to me once more before walking out, and I could see that she was hesitating again. I smiled at her, asked her what was bothering her so much._

_“When vampire Willow was here,” she said slowly, her eyes searching mine, “you said you wouldn’t help her because you didn’t want to disappoint someone. Is that why you decided not to kill humans anymore? For someone?”_

_The words burned my lips, and I had to fight myself not to say too much, all at once excited at the prospect of letting her know I was doing it for her, and afraid her reaction wouldn’t be as I hoped it would. I managed to barely say “Yes, for someone”, hoping that she’d care enough to ask the next logical question, to which I’d truthfully answer that this someone was her._

_She didn’t ask, and simply left._

_I thought at the time that it meant she didn’t care so much about who I was fighting for, as long as it made me fight for the good side. I learned soon enough that she didn’t ask because she already knew._


	24. Smiles

If Angel counted the time, in the last dozen decades or so, that he had spent in close contact with Spike, it added up to just about Buffy’s age. A simple coincidence that meant one simple thing. He knew the other vampire as well as if he had been his own Childe; and in a sense, he was. Angelus had taught him, trained him, and tried to curb him to his way of hunting, killing, feeding. In the end, Spike had taken only what he wanted from these teachings, and followed his own mind for the rest. And during all of it, twin passions had molded the Spike’s actions. The first was Drusilla, for whom Spike would have done anything – anything at all, even allying with the Slayer. The second was excitement. Impatient, quickly bored, Spike had always needed challenges, fights, and fun, and Angelus had quickly given up trying to teach him subtlety.

Dru was gone now, replaced in his heart by, of all people, a Slayer. Apparently, so far, it had been sufficient to restrain his second passion, the need to kill, to fight, to use fists and fangs; and what was left was directed toward demons, not humans. Angel hadn’t been present for the truth spell a few days before, but he had heard about it since, more than he would have wished. He could accept that, for now, Spike was still fighting on the good side. Yet, he couldn’t believe that Spike’s infatuation for Buffy would control the desire for fresh blood and real fun for long. It wouldn’t last. It couldn’t last. Sadly, Buffy refused to understand. Just as she refused to understand why Angel couldn’t give her what she wanted.

In the last few days, she had been hinting less and less subtly about prom, about going home with Angel afterwards. It was clear what she wanted. Angel didn’t know how to tell her no without hurting her. It wasn’t simply the fear of losing his soul that was stopping him from taking her in his arms and never letting go. It was also the Mayor’s words, as well as Joyce’s. She had come to the mansion the previous day and told him the same thing the Mayor had, in different words. Angel had been blind until then, believing that, despite the obstacles, he and Buffy could have a future together. He wasn’t sure anymore it was true. Even if it was, he did not deserve it. Did not deserve her.

From where he stood on the roof of a mausoleum, he watched Buffy and Spike patrol through the graveyard. There wasn’t much to do, these nights. It was as if the demon population knew that something big was about to happen and had decided to keep a low profile until then. It was certainly better that way; if there was no distraction, Buffy at least could keep a sharper eye on Spike, since she had declined to tell him to stay away from her. Angel had stopped fighting that battle, it was all too clear she wouldn’t change her mind about that, or at least not because of anything Angel could say.

Lost in his thoughts, Angel missed the first seconds of the fight. When he realized what he had predicted was happening and Spike was attacking Buffy, he jumped to the ground and ran toward them. He tackled Spike from behind, sending him to the ground, a stake already out and plunging toward the his chest.

A tiny but powerful hand closed on his wrist and jerked Angel back, pulling him off the other vampire and sending the stake flying. Baffled, he sought Buffy’s gaze, tried to understand why she would protect her attacker, why she looked so surprised. So annoyed.

“What the bloody hell is wrong with you?” Spike sputtered indignantly as he jumped to his feet, brushing dirt and grass off him. “Can’t even take me face to face?”

Angel slowly stood and ignored him, focusing instead on Buffy.

“I told you not to trust him. Told you he would turn against you and…”

“And spar with me because we didn’t find anything to kill and we both had energy to burn?”

It took a few seconds for the words to sink in, enough time for Spike to light a cigarette and chuckle.

“Oh, this is going to be a good one,” he said, almost gleeful. “I want an apology. A sincere one, mind you.”

Angel turned his eyes, which he knew were more amber than brown, toward his grandchilde; but it didn’t seem to impress Spike, who was taking deep pulls on his cigarette and smirking lightly.

“Spike, you’re not helping,” Buffy said tiredly. “I think patrol is over for tonight.”

“Already? But it’s so early, luv! How about another round?”

Judging by Spike’s widening grin, he was trying to get a rise out of Angel. Angel refused to give him satisfaction and remained quiet, wishing Buffy would get rid of Spike a bit faster.

“Don’t be such a pain,” she said, her slight smile belying the roughness of the words.

“Oh, no need to cry, I’ll go. But I’m dropping by to see your mum.”

Inwardly, Angel screamed his warning for Buffy to refuse, to keep Spike and his lack of soul away from her mother. For a second, she hesitated, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, and he thought she would follow his silent urging. Disappointment came fast.

“Alright, you can go,” she agreed with some reluctance. “But you stay out.”

Spike seemed shocked, as if he hadn’t expected her answer, but he didn’t discuss the limits she was imposing on him and was soon sauntering away, with a last smirking glance at Angel.

“Trusting him with your own life is one thing,” Angel commented as calmly as he could. “But your mother doesn’t stand a chance if…”

“And that’s why she won’t invite him in,” Buffy cut in. “But she wanted to talk to him, and made me promise to send him her way.”

Angel had the sudden feeling Joyce would give Spike the same speech she had given him the day before, but Buffy didn’t give him much time to think about it.

“Were you following us?” Buffy asked abruptly.

There was no point denying it. “I just needed to make sure you’d be fine. You know I don’t trust Spike.”

She tilted her head to the side, watching him intently; Angel wondered what was going through her mind.

“Is it Spike you don’t trust, or is it me?”

The calmness of her voice surprised him as much as the words.

“Of course I trust you!”

“Because from where I stand,” she continued as if she hadn’t heard him, “it’s not so clear. You don’t trust me where your soul is concerned, you don’t trust my judgment with Spike, you’d rather follow me than patrol…”

Her voice trailed off as Angel shook his head.

“It’s not you or your judgment, I don’t trust. It’s me. It’s Spike. We’re vampires, Buffy. When all is said and done, we’re still demons. Souled or not. And you deserve a lot more than having demons in your life, as allies or friends or anything else.”

She snorted, but looked far for amused.

“Yeah, well, go tell that to whoever made me the Slayer, because at this point demons are pretty much all there is to my life.”

“And you deserve more,” Angel repeated slowly. “You should have a normal life, or as normal as possible. A boyfriend who can take you in the sun, and give you children, and I won’t stand in the way of your happiness.”

Her hazel eyes widened in shock then stared at him, and Angel remained quiet, giving her time to understand his words. It would be hard, for both of them, but he knew he was making the right choice. Some day, he hoped she would understand he only had her best interests at heart. Then maybe she’d forgive him.

*****

With a smile, Joyce went to the back door upon hearing a knock on it, but it was a tense smile. Part of her was glad to see Spike; glad to know he was still one of the white hats even though he had lost his soul. She liked to believe that she had played a small role into making him a better man. Yet, another part of her was wary of the way he looked at Buffy, of his increased attentiveness whenever Joyce mentioned her, of the feelings she suspected he might have for her daughter.

She had talked to Angel the day before, pointing out that Buffy should have a real life and that he could not give her that life. She hoped he would take her hint; even if it would hurt Buffy in the short term, it was a necessity for her to stop seeing Angel. It wouldn’t work, however, to get one vampire out of the picture only to have him replaced by another. Joyce liked Spike, yes, she enjoyed their talks and considered him a little like family. But hearing that he had lost his soul had reminded her that, like Angel, he wasn’t the perfect candidate to be Buffy’s companion. Had Spike and Angel both been humans, she would have meddled and tried to push Buffy toward Spike; something about Angel irked her, and she really couldn’t stand him. But in the present case, and whatever she thought of him, Spike simply wasn’t an option for her daughter.

Him outside, her inside, like they had done since the beginning, they shared some hot cocoa until Joyce was ready to broach the subject. Calmly, she told him what she suspected of his feelings for Buffy; and when he didn’t deny, she knew she had been right. She repeated the words she had told Angel, expecting the same quiet acquiescence. What she got instead was a snort.

“There’s something I don’t think you get,” Spike said as he stood, leaving the mug on the step. His eyes were sad as he looked at her. Not unfriendly, but disappointed. “Your little girl is not normal. She’ll never have a normal life. She’ll be lucky to survive her graduation day. She’ll beat the odds if she’s still alive a year from today. If she has a child, the kid will be orphan before he’s old enough to remember much of her.”

The words were abrupt, and chilled Joyce to the bones, making her shiver. Spike didn’t stop, however.

“So tell me, Joyce. What do you want for her? A human love that could give her the illusion of normalcy for a few months without ever understanding her? Or do you want her to live as long as she can? ‘Cause me, I’m working on the second one. And with all due respect, I’m not gonna stop because you suddenly remembered I have fangs.”

Joyce was about to answer – answer how she had no clue, but she had to make him see she was doing this for Buffy – when the noise of the front door banging shut drew her attention behind her. She barely caught a glimpse of her daughter rushing toward the steps, heart-wrenching sobs filling the room. When she turned to Spike again, his expression was unreadable.

“Sounds like you convinced one vamp, Joyce,” he said softly. “But you won’t convince the other one. She’s strong enough to make her own choices.”

Stricken by his words and more than a little confused, Joyce watched him disappear into the night before she joined her daughter to try to comfort her.

*****

_When I think of her smiling, it’s often the smile from her prom night I remember, when she walked onto the stage and received that stupid umbrella. She was resplendent._

_Angel had broken up with her. She had spent her evening chasing hellhounds. She knew the Ascension of the Mayor was only days away. But at that very moment, she was happy. If you ask me, there’s a simple reason. It was one of the first times where her Slayer life and normal life meshed; and for a few minutes, she could be both the Slayer and the girl. I’ve tried to give her as many moments like these as I can, but given what I am, it hasn’t always been easy._

_So, yeah, I went to her prom. William the Bloody went to a prom. I know. Terrifying. Hadn’t I sworn, long before, that this kind of social events was only good if I got to create a blood bath? There was none though that night. A small fight before, as I helped her with the hellhound things – although she was so worked up, she could have taken them single-handedly – but no carnage. I suppose she expected me to leave after our hunt, seeing how she said goodnight and all before darting off to change, but I couldn’t leave it at that. I wanted to see her in her pretty dress. Would have been even prettier in black, or even better, red, but she doesn’t exactly listen to me about her choice in clothing. I slipped through a back door, all the while thinking that if I had been in a snacking mood, I could have made an easy kill. Found the Watchers, scared the wanker one away, and told Giles about the hunt. That’s when they gave her the prezzie. That’s when I saw her beautiful smile for the first time._

_She came straight to her Watcher afterwards, looking a bit surprised to see me there, and then commented that I could have put on a tuxedo. She’s funny, my Slayer._

_Then out of the blue, she made me speechless. Asked me if I wanted to dance with her._

_Yeah, I know. Never saw that one coming either. Out of the blue, I tell you. Not that I was going to complain, of course, but as soon as she gave her umbrella to Giles, we walked to the dance floor. Bonus – it was a slow song playing._

_She rested her hands on my shoulders, a bit hesitantly, and I settled mine on her hips. The satin of her dress was nice to the touch, but I would have given a lot to know the feel of her skin. For a few instants, everything was perfect, and I might have lost my soul if I still had had one to lose. We were probably a strange sight, her in light pink evening wear, me in old jeans and duster, but I couldn’t have cared less. The music, the soft rhythm of our swaying together, her heat so close to my body, her lovely face close enough to kiss, these were the only things I was aware of._

_Then… then I noticed that her gaze was darting every so often past my shoulder, and every time it did, her eyes seemed to shine with unshed tears. I shifted our steps so that I could see what or whom she was looking at. It didn’t take me long to notice the brooding wonder on the other side of the room, dressed in a tuxedo and looking as if he was about to crumble to ashes._

_“Luv?”_

_She finally looked at me, blinking the tears away. The words burned my throat even as I said them, but I couldn’t let it go on like this. I couldn’t let it all happen again._

_“I won’t be a substitute for Angel,” I said and bit my tongue before adding too much._

_She seemed a little surprised, and to her credit, she blushed, a little embarrassed I supposed that I had caught her game._

_“I know you’re not like him,” she murmured, looking anywhere but at me. “It’s one of the reasons you’re not dust yet.”_

_One of several reasons? I wanted to ask what the others were, but I also needed to know something._

_“So, what are we doing here? ‘Cause as much as I hate to say it, seems to me you could be having a last dance or something.”_

_She shrugged, still avoiding my gaze._

_“We’re making him jealous. He’s been jealous of you for months, at least now he has a reason to be.”_

_I managed to stifle a laugh, but not without pain. All trace of laughter disappeared however when I caught her first quiet sob. Without thinking, I pulled her closer to me, and she took the opportunity I was offering her, hiding her face – and her tears – against my shirt. I leaned my cheek to the top of her head, trying to shush her with senseless murmurs even as I glared at Angel. He finally left. She remained where she was until the slow songs were over, and then gave me a sad but thankful little smile. ___


	25. Poisons

Since prom, Spike had expected Angel’s visit and the foreseeable fight that would follow. Angel had been possessive of what he considered his and Spike had no doubt that, despite breaking up with her, Angel still thought of Buffy as his girl and probably always would. Seeing her in someone else’s arms, even for something as innocent as a dance, must have hurt. Seeing her in Spike’s arms must have been downright intolerable.

Still, it took Angel three nights to finally come to voice his protest; and when he did, it wasn’t at all as Spike had thought it would be. Less violence for one thing, more words for another.

The sun had set a few minutes before and Spike was ready to go out and try to cheer up Buffy, his new goal for these long research and patrol nights before the Ascension. As he was about to step out, however, the door swung open and Angel strode in, gloomier than ever. Under the pretext of looking for his smokes, Spike checked for the presence of the stake in his pocket. If Angel was there to fight, Spike had better be ready.

“Peaches. To what do I owe the annoyance?”

Angel didn’t react; instead, he remained between Spike and the door, hands thrust deeply in his jacket’s pockets.

“You know she’s not for you, so why do you even try?”

Almost coughing on the first pull of his cigarette, Spike looked at Angel incredulously. He had expected many things, but not this resigned tone.

“All I know,” he replied guardedly, wondering what game Angel was playing, “is that you gave up on her. And when you did, you also gave up the right to interfere with her life.”

Spike didn’t believe Angel would agree with him, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t say it. And he was ready to fight over these few words and the truth they held if needed. He was surprised when Angel chose another angle of attack.

“It’s not her life I’m interfering with. It’s yours. You think you want her, but it’s the same thing as always. You want what’s mine, because it’s mine, and for no other reason.”

Spike snorted, smirking lightly.

“Get over yourself already. It has nothing to do with you. I don’t even know why I’m bothering…”

“Why you’re bothering is what I’m wondering,” Angel cut in. “Why did you bother keeping me alive when I came back as Angelus? Why did you bother to have me resouled? Why bother playing at the white hat game instead of killing again?”

Remaining immobile, Spike tried to show nothing in his expression. There were questions better left unanswered, and these were definitely that kind.

“I’ll tell you why,” Angel said after a few seconds, taking a step closer to him. “Because you wanted me to be there to see you take her from me. Because it wouldn’t have been as much fun if I hadn’t witnessed it. Well, you’ve done it. You’ve taken her; I’ve seen it. Now you can stop before it goes too far. She’s already been hurt enough, Spike; no need to add to it.”

Spike didn’t quite understand something in that speech. Apparently, Angel assumed his grandchilde had seduced Buffy, but why… Realization came in a sudden flash.

“You still think I slept with her,” he said blankly.

Angel didn’t reply, which was an answer in itself. Spike shook his head, barely believing what was going through Angel’s mind.

“I didn’t take her from you. You lost her, all by yourself. If you can’t see it, then you’re more blind than I ever realized.”

A muscle twitched in Angel’s jaw, and Spike tensed, certain that violence would surface soon. Once more, Angel proved him wrong as he slowly nodded, his calm denied by the edge in his voice.

“Fine. I lost her. I can admit it. But I still want her happy, and you can’t give her that. Come with me when I leave Sunnydale. If you truly care about her, you have to see…”

“What I see,” Spike interrupted, his anger rising, “is that you weakened her only days before the biggest battle she has ever had to fight. I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to stand next to her and make sure she gets out of it alive; and I’m going to do that until I’m dust, because nothing short than that will stop me. If you have a problem with that, then get over it.”

With a hard look at Angel, Spike walked past him and out of the crypt. Buffy was somewhere out there expecting him, and he certainly wasn’t going to disappoint her.

*****

Spike’s forehead was burning under Buffy’s hand, and it made it all surreal. She replaced her hand with a cool wet rag, but she knew it wouldn’t make things any better. Spike was burning from the inside out, dying, because of her, because he had been helping her, because he cared more about her than a reasonable vampire should have.

He had been with her, helping in any way he could, as usual, when Faith had struck with a poisoned arrow. The gang was researching what the poison was. Meanwhile, he was burning in front of her, and she suffered for him. She couldn’t understand why it hurt so much to see him in misery. Just one more thing that didn’t make much sense in her life.

When she thought about everything that had been happening in the past few days, she felt like she had stepped into another dimension. Angel had ended their relationship or what was left of it, only a handful of days before; certainly, she still mourned his love. It had hurt so much, at first, that at times she had felt like she couldn’t breathe, that her heart was about to stop beating, that Angelus had taken his revenge and sent her to an eternity in hell. But the pain was slowly dulling; and now it was resentment, more than anything, that she felt toward him.

If he had left her because he didn’t love her anymore, she could have understood his actions. As much as she wanted to think that love was eternal and once she’d find the right person it would be forever, a more cynical part of her knew better. People fell in love and sometimes they fell out of love. That was just how it went.

But she was sure that wasn’t what had happened with Angel. At no point had he said he didn’t love her anymore. All he had said was that he was leaving for her own good, that she’d see some day that he was right, and that she deserved better than what he could offer her. On that last point, she was beginning to agree. She certainly deserved better than someone who thought she wasn’t able to make important decisions for herself and that it was better to make them for her.

Through it all, she had been grateful to the people around her. They weren’t twisting the knife by bringing up Angel and his decision to leave, and that was a good thing. She had enough things to concentrate her thoughts on, one of them being saving the town from the soon to happen Ascension; it helped not to be reminded of Angel. One more reason she was glad Spike was so different from him.

Spike. He was something else. Soulless, yet still fighting for good. Soulless, yet able to care so much for her. Maybe even… love?

She had realized it in the middle of the truth spell, and almost had asked straight out if he was fighting his own nature for her. She hadn’t asked. She had grown to know him, during the months they had patrolled side by side. She dared to hope she knew him enough to see past the hard shell he presented to the world.

What she couldn’t understand was how she had managed not to notice until now. Once the question had been on the table, it hadn’t taken her long to realize all the little things she had ignored had meaning. Strange smiles, prolonged looks, peculiar words. Spike cared for her, maybe was even in love with her, and she suspected that was why he fought his demon from killing. It was why he was doing something a soulless Angel had never considered for an instant.

If she had had any doubts left, his words and actions since their prom night dance confirmed it. He hadn’t said anything about his feelings, hadn’t even hinted at them, but he was there for her, fighting with her, trying to cheer her up, and more often than not succeeding. Part of her wondered how long it would take her to get over Angel and fall for Spike. Another part wondered if maybe it wasn’t happening already, and that was why Angel’s leaving didn’t hurt so much anymore. The rest of her was scared at the idea of letting another vampire – another man – into her heart. Or even worse, of taking advantage of him, of his feelings, and using him as a rebound guy. He certainly deserved better than that.

Blue eyes opened, watching her steadily, and she let herself hope his fever had fallen.

“Hey there,” she murmured, forcing herself to smile. “Feeling better?”

“You shine like an angel.”

She repressed a sigh. He wasn’t any better.

“Are you my guardian angel?” he insisted, reaching out to touch her cheek with a wavering finger.

“If you want me to be,” she indulged him, taking the wet rag from his forehead and rinsing it in a bowl of cold water before placing it once more on his burning flesh.

“Knew you’d take care of it,” he mumbled, turning his face to touch her hand.

“Take care of what?”

“My soul. Isn’t that why you took it from me?”

Buffy froze, her heart beating a tad too fast, her thoughts pulsing even harder in her mind. Could she ask him, now, how he had lost it? Would he forgive her for intruding into his weakened mind? She wanted – needed – so much to know, to understand…

There was noise behind her in the crypt, and she turned in time to see Angel step off the ladder. She frowned, wondering what her ex was doing here, but his presence made her decision easier. Returning her attention to Spike, she cupped his sculpted cheek in her hand.

“Spike? Can you tell me how you lost your soul?”

A small smile tugged at his lips.

“You were there. Don’t you remember?”

She heard Angel’s hiss on the other side of the bed, but ignored it.

“I forgot. Can you remind me?”

Her eyes slowly widened as he complied and told her, in broken sentences and quiet whispers, how something as simple as being accepted and embraced by her and her mother had given him a few moments of true happiness. A few more prodding questions and he confirmed what she had suspected, that he was fighting for her, to please her, and no other reason.

It became too much, then, and she had to leave the room, leave the crypt, leave Spike to Angel and Giles’ care. Should she have cared so much that a vampire was dying because he had feelings for her? Her job was to kill vampires, wasn’t it?

Unsure what to think or feel, she joined the rest of the gang and listened dispassionately as they told her the poison’s cure. She didn’t allow herself to think before deciding to bring Spike Faith’s blood.

*****

_I can’t say I remember much of what happened after I collapsed in the library. What I can remember is fuzzy around the edges, more like flashes than real memories, so imprecise that I’m not sure whether they’re real or dreams. I think I might have taken Willow for Buffy at some point, and talked too much about how I felt. I probably did, because the next time I saw Willow and was conscious enough to know it was her, she had a look of half wonder, half suspicion. I had the clear impression that if I ever hurt the Slayer she’d make me regret it in the most painful way._

_I remember Angel also, though that might have been before the Willow episode. That one I know was real, because it’s been a long time since I’ve dreamed of Angel’s blood. Not that I didn’t want it – hell, no sane vampire would refuse blood from a sire or grandsire, not when it’s the next best thing to Slayer blood, and I’m placed well enough to know that. Dru never minded sharing blood with me, which probably helped me become the Master I am today; but I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times Angelus granted me that privilege. Once when I was hurt and he needed me to get better fast, once when he allowed me a taste from a shallow cut inflicted by Darla’s nails, a couple of times when I had done something that had pleased him enough to reward me._

_When I was stuck in that damn wheelchair, a good drink from him would have put me right in no time; but of course, the bastard didn’t offer, just taunted me with the possibility. I never thought that, souled, he’d ever feed me his blood. Seems I was wrong. He gave me more in that one time than he ever had before, probably as much as he could spare. Must have stung that it wasn’t enough to cure me. For a little while, I felt better, but it didn’t last; and when Buffy came back, I was out there in lalaland._

_Her presence by my side was vague, but I think she was there at least twice. I’m not sure what I told her the first time, but from our later discussions, I know I said enough. Too much. Told her I had lost my soul because of her. Told her I was fighting for no other reason than her. From what I recall, Angel was there, too, heard it all, and it’s once more a wonder that he didn’t stake me. Increasingly, I think he had truly given up on her, more deeply than anyone had supposed, maybe even more than he suspected himself. He stayed there when she left, and that’s when he fed me his blood._

_The second time she was there…_

_The second time, she smelled of blood. Not her own, but still blood, fresh blood, human blood, Slayer blood. I was already delirious, and the scent just made things worse. I hadn’t fed properly in a long time and Angel’s blood earlier, while it had filled me, now made me crave even more. The demon took over, and I lunged for her throat._

_She didn’t fight me off._


	26. Free To Love

Head low, Buffy returned to Spike’s graveyard, knowing she had failed and would soon witness his death. Faith was dead, her body carried away by a passing truck and her blood, which could have saved Spike, no longer an option. As she walked, Buffy could still hear the hate-filled words Faith had flung at her, calling her a slut for sleeping with two vampires, and promising Spike would be in a lot more pain before he finally crumbled to ashes. Unbearable words that had angered Buffy even more, until she had made the mistake of letting Faith escape her in death. A mistake that would cost Spike his life.

She arrived at last at the crypt, and with as few words as possible, she sent Willow and Oz, who had replaced Giles, back home to sleep and rest. They left with a quiet warning that Angel was in the lower level with Spike, and she sighed at the idea of confronting her ex once again. She didn’t hurt as much as when he had broken up with her, but it still was painful to have him around when she was trying to forget him. Why was he even there?

“Because Spike helped me,” Angel answered surly when she questioned him. “I’m returning the favor.”

She bit back the comment that Spike’s help hadn’t seemed to matter to him so far. She was too tired for Angel’s mind games, too tired to try to understand what was going on in his head. And when he said that he was going upstairs because he needed to replace the blood he had offered his grandchilde, she managed not to ask him what had happened. If he wanted to tell her, he could do so without playing cryptic games first.

As Angel retreated to the upper level, she sat down on the edge of the bed, wondering if Spike was asleep, unconscious, or simply had his eyes closed. She received an answer when the planes of his face shifted to the ridges of the demon and he lunged at her, so fast that she only had a glimpse of amber-filled eyes before he buried his face in the crook of her neck.

Surprised beyond words or actions, she didn’t react immediately as her back hit the bed and was even more confused when the bite she expected didn’t come. Lips and tongue caressed her skin, and a small noise rose from Spike, wordless but imploring. He could have torn her throat already, killed her easily, but instead he was pleading, begging for her blood and an end to his suffering.

For a brief instant, everything seemed limpid, and she rested a hand at the back of Spike’s head, pressing him lightly to her throat, giving him permission. Later, she would plead temporary insanity, suggesting Spike had put her under a thrall or knocked her out. But the second his fangs entered her skin, painful but at the same time controlled, her only thought was that this felt _right_. There was no other word for it.

The first pull on her blood brought her back to her senses, reminding her of the Master, and she mindlessly began to move under him, ready to push him away. She stopped moving as he drew again. The pain was gone, a mere memory, now replaced by a warmth suffusing her whole body. Another pull and a moan escaped her lips, followed by more. Warmth, calm, soft noises, even some kind of tenderness, instead of the endless agitation and fear of getting ready for the Ascension. Some rest, at last.

Her final thought before she glided into blissful darkness was that there were worse ways to die.

*****

It was those sounds that roused Angel’s suspicions, all too clear even tough he was in the upper level of the crypt instead of down there with them. Had he not been helping himself to Spike’s blood supply, he would probably have noticed the scent, too, because it was the rich smell that hit him when he jumped down the ladder hole. Buffy’s blood. And then, the sight threatened to freeze him in fear – Spike’s face buried in Buffy’s neck, her body slack underneath him. With a roar, he threw himself at his grandchilde, pulled him away from Buffy and threw him across the room where he hit the wall hard.

Muttering curses and promises of dusting him after a round of torture, Angel turned back to Buffy, tearing the sheet off the bed and pressing the fabric to her neck to stop the bleeding. The wounds were small and neat, unlike Spike’s usual messy feeding; for that Angel was grateful. Had he torn into Buffy’s neck, she would have been dead already. And she wasn’t. Not yet. Not if he could help it.

With a death glare at Spike, who was now sitting on the floor seemingly horrified at what he had done, Angel picked up Buffy, his gestures careful but hurried. He carried her to the ladder, growling when Spike stood and took a wavering step toward them.

“If you have any sense left in you, you’ll be gone before I come back.”

Spike said something, but Angel ignored him, all his attention concentrating on Buffy’s faint but still stubborn heartbeat.

The journey to the hospital and the following moments were a blur. He almost threatened a doctor, placed a few phone calls, and chased the Mayor away from Buffy, all of them senseless actions when the only thing that mattered was whether Buffy would live or die. If she died now, then leaving her, breaking her heart would have been for nothing; he began to understand Spike’s talk of being by her side to the end. Understanding him, however, didn’t mean that his anger was fading in any way. As soon as the doctors told him and the Scoobies that she’d be ok, he left.

He had a stake in his hand when he entered Spike’s crypt. To his mild surprise, it was not deserted.

*****

One second the world was pure bliss, warm, strong blood flowing into Spike’s mouth, down his throat, healing his body, making him hard. Not just any blood, but Buffy’s, and that made the experience even more powerful to him. The next, he was bereft of his sweet Slayer’s throat and life, and being thrown against a wall.

As he sat up, he shook off the demon visage and tried to clear his mind. What in the hell had happened? How had he come to the point of having his fangs in…

All thoughts disappeared as his widening eyes fell on Angel. And Buffy. An immobile Buffy. Dead Buffy..? No, not dead, she wasn’t dead; he could hear her heart faintly, almost too faintly, but it still was beating. He hadn’t killed her. He only had come incredibly close to killing her. Had Angel not intervened…

Swallowing his fear, Spike stood shakily until he steadied himself with a hand on the wall. He started to walk toward the ladder, following Angel, wanting to remain with Buffy, but a barked order stilled him. Angel was going to stake him. Right now if he kept moving, later if he remained there. If he forced Angel’s hand now, it’d mean that Buffy would receive help just a little later. Maybe too late. So Spike stopped, watched vampire and Slayer disappear up the ladder, and fell to his knees.

Hands against the cold stone of the floor, head bowed, he waited. An internal war was raging in him. If Angel found him here when he returned – and he had all but promised to return – Spike would be ashes. But if he left, ran away like the guilty man he was, he wouldn’t know what had happened to Buffy, wouldn’t know if she was still alive or… or not. He didn’t want to contemplate the alternative, refused to even think for a minute that he had killed the woman he loved. Yet, that was all he could think of.

When the door upstairs was thrown open, Spike still hadn’t moved one inch. He merely raised his head when Angel came down, and managed to ask:

“Is she alive?”

Angel’s gaze burned amber. “She’ll live,” he spat. “But you won’t.”

His grandsire approached, stake raised and ready to strike, yet Spike remained still. He’d come too close to killing her. It was too dangerous for him to remain close to her, but he couldn’t stand the thought of being away from her. He might as well be dust.

“You’re going to let me stake you?”

He raised his eyes to meet Angel’s again, and allowed himself a small shrug.

“Why did you even do it?” Angel asked, and suddenly all the tension seemed to have left his body, replaced by wariness.

“How would I know?” Spike muttered as he slowly stood. “I don’t even remember doing it.”

Even as he said this, a tactile memory came back to him. The feel of Buffy’s hand at the back of his head, pulling him closer, holding him in place once he had bitten. He blinked several times, raising a hand to brush where she had been touching, and wondered if it had been real.

“Why didn’t she push me off her?” he mumbled more to himself than as a question to Angel, and Angel’s answering growl startled him.

“You just said you don’t remember, and now…”

“I don’t! It’s just… like a flash. An impression. I was delirious and I’m not sure…”

Once again, Spike’s train of thoughts took a hard stop. He had been delirious. Out of his mind. Not his fault. Even then, she could have stopped him and hadn’t. Not his fault. Not entirely.

“She really let you do it?” Angel asked, his voice a worried murmur, and Spike didn’t know what to answer.

*****

As she ran for her life, for all of her friends’ lives, through Sunnydale High with the ascended Mayor slithering and hissing on her heels, Buffy’s thoughts were racing faster than her heartbeat, going back and forth between dreams and reality, past and future.

It was because of a dream that she had realized to win she would need to enrage the Mayor beyond the point of being able to think. She couldn’t help wondering if Faith had really been there, or if she had only been a manifestation of Buffy’s subconscious. She wanted to believe it had been Faith. And she was glad, oh so glad, that she hadn’t killed her.

The reality was that they were in the middle of a fight. Outside, the students and a pair of vampires were fighting the Mayor troops. She knew there had been casualties already amongst the humans. She hoped that, when she would come out of the building in a moment, with any luck in one piece and the Mayor a bad memory, all of her friends would still be standing. She also hoped two vampires would still be there too.

The past, right now, was a mesh of images, words and feelings. The feel of her life flowing from her to Spike. Angel’s voice when he had told her he would leave after the fight, without even a goodbye that would be too painful for both of them. Spike’s eyes when he had entered the library the night before, his obvious relief at seeing she was there and fine, his guilt, too, that she had tried to soothe away with a smile. They had never been alone, the gang making a point of keeping an eye on him even though she had told them he wasn’t responsible for what had happened. She would need to talk to him, once everything was over, and that was the future she was thinking of. She wasn’t sure what she felt for him, but she knew one thing – she wouldn’t have let just any vamp feed from her to save his life. So why hadn’t she stopped Spike?

She would find out soon.

If they both survived, she would.

*****

_After all these months of knowing the Ascension would come, the fight itself was strangely anticlimactic for me. Maybe because all I had to do was fight a bunch of lousy vamps. Or maybe because all I wanted was to see Buffy safe again, to talk to her, one on one, tell her how sorry I was I had almost killed her, tell her I’d leave town if she wanted me to, or anything else. And all the while, hope for her forgiveness, hope she’d tell me to stay, and maybe, just maybe…_

_She had smiled when I first saw her after the whole ‘drinking her dry’ bit. It had to mean something. I was living on the hope that it meant something. But to know that, to be sure, we both needed to survive, and find a moment to talk, just the two of us. Survive, when she was playing bait to that humongous demon, and I couldn’t do a thing to help._

_At the instant the school exploded, the unscheduled eclipse began to end, and all of us standing vampires made a mad rush to the sewers’ entrance. I fought back to back with Angel down there, and we finished off the remainder of the Mayor’s soldiers together. More things to marvel at. We hadn’t staked each other despite numerous occasions, and now we were actually fighting together. Unlife is full of wonders, huh?_

_I think he understood I hadn’t bitten her with the intent to harm her, but rather had just acted on instinct, too out of it to realize what I was doing. The real surprise, however, came when he asked me to come to Los Angeles with him, trying to convince me it was for Buffy's safety. If he had said that he had wanted me to work with him, I might have gone; the pull of our blood, of our family, is still strong for me, soul or no soul. As I now know it is for him, however hard he tries to deny it. Strong enough I might have considered leaving Buffy, at least for a while, if I had discovered she was angry about the bite incident. But this? Making it sound as if he was deciding what was best for her once again? I said no and that was the end of it._

_We remained there an hour or so, until night fell, him brooding, me smoking. I wish we could have talked. Not friends, no, I don’t think we were ready for that yet. Family yes, but not friends. But it would have been nice to talk. I don’t know. Easy to say in hindsight, I guess._

_When we came out, there were fire trucks all around us, and ambulances. We separated without a word, both of us looking for her, but neither wanting to remain together. He found her before I did. When I say found her, I mean, she saw him, he saw her, they shared one of these meaningful looks, then he was gone. All the while, I watched them from where I was sitting on a nearby bench, and told myself that it was truly over between them if they couldn’t even stand to give each other a proper goodbye. The Scoobies reappeared around her, and a smile tugged at her lips as she talked to them. She seemed to be fine and as gorgeous as ever._

_And now she was free of Angel._

_They all walked in my direction, all of them grinning at each other now that the fight was over, and I began to hope. Really hope. If they came to me, if they talked to me, smiled at me, then maybe they could see past the absence of that bloody soul, past the demon, and see what I could be. Maybe they could accept me as I was. Maybe…_

_Buffy smiled, and the rest of the world disappeared._

_It wasn’t going to be all fluff and roses for us in the months to come – hell, even in the years to come. But I was going to try my best to win her heart. And eventually…  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued in Fallen Demon.


End file.
